Rider Reborn
by DuncanIdaho2014
Summary: Eragon, through a trick of wild magic, finds himself returned to his 15-year-old body, with a newly hatched Saphira to care for and a war to win again. How will he handle the burden? What changes will he make to history? The future has been unwritten, and anything is possible.
1. Chapter 1

A thousand years to the day since he had become a Rider, Eragon watched the sunrise.

He thought about all he had accomplished in his long life, the failures, the victories, the joy, the heartache. His name was told around campfires with the reverential tone reserved for heroes and gods. They called him Shadeslayer, Kingkiller, Father of Riders. And while he was all those things, there were other names that could be applied that fit much better, but less than a handful of people knew them. Bromson, student of Oromis, nephew of Garrow. And there was one epithet he thought most appropriate, especially since it was one he'd inherited from his teacher.

Osthato Chetowä. The Mourning Sage.

Mourning: the state of missing, regretting, or longing for something or someone that was lost. Sage: one revered for their knowledge and wisdom. Yes, Eragon thought that fit him best.

So many things could happen within just one year, and Eragon had experienced hundreds of them. And while he had only to look around him to see all he had gained and built, he still felt like he had lost more.

After all, not many could say they had lost an entire homeland.

It had taken a year from the time they'd set out on the Talita to find a new home for the dragons. They had sailed down the Edda and reached the sea within a fortnight. But faced with all that empty horizon, the party had hesitated. They did not want to set out aimlessly in a direction and end up starving or completely lost. So they had stuck to the shoreline, going North. Looking back, Eragon suspected Blödhgarm and the other elves of voting to go that way instead of South was because it was the same direction as their beloved forest. For months they had sailed, keeping an eye peeled for any sign of land beyond Alagaësia. When the air turned so cold even Saphira complained and they began to see nothing but ice and rocks on the shore, they turned around to go back the other way. It took weeks to return to where they had started, and weeks longer until they rounded the very corner of the continent, the last of the Beors standing in defiance of the glittering ocean.

Resigned that they would indeed have to leave all they had known behind, Eragon and Saphira had once again flown up into the atmosphere, protected by magic, hoping to spot some land in the distance. It was not until they were high enough for Eragon to once again see the curvature of the world that they spotted anything but Alagaësia and blue water. Armed with a heading, the Talita had struck out into waters unknown, to find and land in a place that might never have seen any of the five races.

The journey took two months, but they would later discover a good voyage took only three weeks from Hedarth. The delay was due to how far they were from where they should have started, and uncommonly bad weather. Eragon had heard of harsh storms that blew out from the ocean to batter the southwest of Alagaësia known as hurricanes. But nothing could have prepared him for the elemental fury that had battered the Talita for a full week. Never-ending rain, wind so fierce that Saphira was afraid to fly, lightning constantly flashing adding another deterrent, and the waves driven to truly incredible heights and frequency by the rage of the sky. It was only by the power of the Eldunari and the proficiency of the crew's magic that no one had died. But they had been worn down, their sails and rigging all but ruined, and most supplies lost overboard. The elves had been forced to eat fish or starve, and every meal had held the air of a funeral. Saphira had found it all very amusing, often making a point of gnawing on a shark in the waters next to the boat and watching the elves recoil at the sight of the blood and the grimaces they had as they chewed.

But finally, they docked at an island almost twice as large as Vroengard. An island with vibrant forests, clear lakes, and a volcano at its heart that Saphira had always regarded with both wonder and the slightest trepidation. She'd never imagined finding a substance too hot for her scales to withstand, but lava did the trick. When prompted to name their new home, Eragon had simply, even unimaginatively as he was later accused with mirth, named it Nest.

They had sent word to those they'd left behind that they had found their new home. Thankfully, one of the elves was skilled with cartography, and was able to send an updated map showing what lay to the east of Alagaësia, Nest at the edge and drawn to scale. Within months, the first of the new Riders sailed over on great ships of elven make, big enough to support young dragons that did not have the strength to fly the whole way. They would dock at a rudimentary town the elves had begun to sing from the trees. Over the years, human, dwarf, and Urgal riders added their own influence, their own magic making them capable of architectural feats that would have required a hundred craftsmen of their own kind. Now it was a grand city, build for and by the Dragon Riders. It had grown to almost a league in diameter, in part due to the sheer scale of the streets, designed with dragons in mind. Eragon always felt pleasantly amused to see a dragon walking down the street as if they were just another horse. Given it was as much the dragons' city as their Riders', it had come to be known as Ristvak'skul, or Place of Scales.

In time, each of the 217 eggs meant to revive the wild dragons hatched, two or three at a time. Every single one was looked after and tended to by Saphira alone, unwilling to let Eragon or the others help and so make them 'soft'. And while she would always be foreign to them due to her bond with a human, every dragon came to respect her, some even calling her Mother despite the fact she'd never laid. And so, in addition to Brightscales, Saphira became known as Mother of Dragons, companion to the Father of Riders. What was ironic was that in all his centuries, Eragon had never beget a child either. And yet beneath his patient care, each of the first 26 of the New Order of Riders came to see him as a second father.

The first century was spent establishing themselves on Nest, introducing the wild dragons back into the world, and training the first generation of riders. Eragon found his true calling in teaching; however skilled he was in battle and the art of killing, he could not say he enjoyed it. But seeing a student's eyes light up as they learned something new, watching them progress before his eyes due to his own influence… he couldn't have believed how good it felt until he had experienced it firsthand. And he learned how bittersweet it was to have to bid them farewell when their training was complete, returning to Alagaësia to help maintain the peace so desperately won. Some elected to stay and make Nest their new home, but most respected their sacred duty to protect their homeland.

And then came the first conflict. The Ra'zac eggs Galbatorix had hidden hatched and kept themselves hidden, breeding in the darkness, until they grew to epidemic proportions and tried to sweep over all of Alagaësia. In what came to be known as the War of Bats, the New Riders proved their mastery of the air as they downed the Lethrblaka, while the armies of Man, Dwarf, Elf, and Urgal faced their offspring, insect-like and designed to kill. Eragon witnessed it all from the comfort of Ristvak'skul, watching with heart in mouth as his students faced their first true trial. When he spotted a green dragon amongst them, he felt his heart clench in pain that surpassed any physical wound he'd ever known, even Durza's scar.

Still, Eragon remained steadfast in his decision to never return to Alagaësia. His students brought him stories, letting him know his name and feats had only grown in his absence. The Shadeslayer Rider, who had fought alongside Nasuada and Orik and Roran Stronghammer, who had slain the Mad King with a single spell. As much as he didn't want it, Eragon had power in the hearts and minds of the people. And that power terrified him. He still recalled that horrible unsettling feeling when he'd been offered the throne, and realized there was nothing stopping him from taking it. The very idea of that kind of authority, that power, that ability to ignore any's will but his own, terrified Eragon. And that fear outweighed all the pain that his self-imposed exile brought him. Even as his very being ached when his scrying showed him a glimpse of the Elf Queen and her emerald partner, he reminded himself he'd made the right choice. Besides, Angela had foretold he'd leave and never return, and he'd learned to pay attention to what the witch said.

The War of Bats was eventually won, and the world was reminded of the glory and power of the Dragon Riders. A golden age came in, or so Eragon heard. His days were spent training each new crop of Riders, dealing with the headaches of keeping Ristvak'skul maintained, and helping Saphira with any conflicts among the wild dragons. Centuries passed in this manner. Over time, as Ristvak'skul grew and developed its own culture and history, more and more of his students chose to stay. They in turn helped to train new Riders sent from Alagaësia, giving Eragon more free time, which he spent primarily lost in books and scrolls brought in from the mainland. Though every morning he performed the Rimgar and made a point of sparring with both new recruits and old masters, making sure he didn't lose his skills should the need for him to take up arms ever arise. And Saphira ever continued to grow, until she could settle some disputes among the wild dragons with nothing but pure size and intimidation. Most of the original crew of the Talita stayed, though occasionally taking trips home to visit.

And then, 713 years since Eragon had left Alagaësia, tragedy struck. A brash Elvin Rider, whose name was obliterated at the sheer horror of her crimes, became a Shade. Eragon remembered, through the haze that surrounded any magic that affected memory, that she had been both curious and reckless, a dangerous combination. When she'd returned to Alagaësia, she had taken down a rogue sorcerer and become curious about the practice of summoning spirits. She had delved too deep too quickly, and her body was lost to the power of the evil being of the ether. What was worse, the spirit seized control of her dragon as well through the bond. The dragon, a male with scales of sunshine yellow and a particularly gentle temperament for a dragon, had turned albino and skeletal, with eyes black as pitch. And the first act of this new Shade was to raze Ellesmera to ashes, with no survivors.

Eragon and Saphira had given a double-voiced roar of rage and sorrow at the news that their mates had died. However long they had been apart, the love had never died, smoldering like a coal in their hearts through the intervening years and distance. They occasionally exchanged letters, but Eragon could never bring himself to scry her with a mirror and converse. It would hurt too much to see the woman he loved and know he'd never have her, bound as they were by duty. But now he never could. She was _gone_.

When Eragon learned that one of his own had done the deed, he had been filled with a hate so intense that even Umaroth and Glaedr had hesitated to speak to him. With barely a word of command to his former students, now Elder Riders in their own right, Eragon had donned his armor, grabbed the many stores of power he had built over the years, and flew with Saphira to home.

In the end, Eragon wound up staying true to Angela's prophecy: he never set foot on the soil of his homeland. He never left Saphira's back. The flight home took only three days, Saphira's massive wings eating up the leagues, vengeance lending her strength. When they landed at Hedarth, now a bustling port for the Riders, Eragon had only stayed long enough to glean any new information from the unguarded thoughts of the townsfolk. Then Saphira was off again, the years' worth of energy Eragon had hidden in various jewels allowing her to ignore hunger and fatigue. But their prey proved elusive. She seemed to determined to burn all of Du Weldenvarden to the ground. City after city fell, thousands of Elves dying to fire and the blackest of magic. But this Shade was cunning, vanishing without a trace after each attack. Most likely slinking through the forest beneath the leaves to avoid notice by other Riders from the air. Eragon and Saphira paid no heed to other Riders calling out to them, or attempts to be scryed by the leaders of the current kingdoms, or even the calls of the Eldunari able to reach his mind all the way from Nest. Eragon used every hunting trick he'd ever known and every spell he could conceive to track down the Shade, aided by Saphira and her impeccable instincts and own insights.

And so it was they managed to catch the Shade as she attacked Silthrim. Saphira had torn at the corrupted dragon, who proved unnatural strong despite its comparatively diminutive size. Meanwhile, Eragon had dueled the Shade with magic and arrows. The Word proved oddly ineffective, since it was not the elf casting the magic but the spirit acting through her, and since Eragon did not know the Name of the spirit or the proper word for whatever it was, he could not place a proper binding. And while he could tear down any wards she cast, she could raise new ones almost as quick, and the chaotic nature of draconic combat ill-afforded any opening. It was only when Saphira managed to all but tear off one of the Shade-dragon's wings and sent it spiraling into Lake Ardwen that Eragon saw his chance. With Brisingr alight and guided by magic, Eragon cast it at the Shade like a spear, sending the burning blade straight into her heart.

And so Eragon became a Shadeslayer twice over.

All told, the nameless Shade Rider had destroyed Ellesmera, Osilon, Kirtan, Nadindel, and part of Silthrim. Over half the Elven cities, including their capital. The Elves suddenly found themselves the smallest of the races, with less than five hundred of their number drawing breath. The songs of despair were said to be heard all the way from Eoam. Eragon heard all of this later. After defeating the Shade, he had gone into a fugue state, sitting lifelessly in the saddle as Saphira had flown them home, stopping only to feed herself after her ordeal. When they finally reached Nest, he had slept for four days. When he awoke, he was badgered by Eldunari, his students, and the magicians of the leaders of Alagaësia, demanding he explain himself and what exactly happened.

His and Saphira's only answer was "Avenging my love."

No true punishment was ever given, for who had the authority to punish the Father of Riders? Eragon learned that he'd never reclaimed Brisingr, that it had sunk into the depths of Ardwen after the Shade's body had exploded into spirits as Durza had. He felt it appropriate. He was determined to never take up a blade again. He'd had his fill of war and suffering, and there now existed no reason great enough to motivate him otherwise.

It was a decade before he could bring himself to teach again, and Saphira five before she could bring herself to open her mind to him fully again. In the end, they returned to something like 'normal', but it was clear to all that knew them that something was missing, some integral part of their character they'd never noticed until it was gone.

Almost three centuries passed, and the world moved on as it must. Eragon learned of new lands discovered across the western sea, of fantastic beasts and weapons that none had ever seen, of cities rising and falling, but he did not care. His whole world, his purpose for living, was the training of his students. He had given everything to the Riders, and he would give them all he had left. Some days, his duty was all that got him out of bed in the morning. That, and the thought of Saphira. She was too proud and strong to take her own life, and he would not burden her with losing him as well.

And that was what brought him to looking out the balcony of Ristvak'skul's highest tower, after a millennium of bearing the gedwëy ignasia.

 _We have been together a long time now, have we not my dear?_ Eragon sent out.

The view from his balcony was suddenly blocked by a single gleaming blue eye. Despite the height of the tower, which was surpassed only by Tronjheim, Saphira did not need to strain her neck to look inside Eragon's room. She was now larger than Shruikan had ever been, despite his unnatural growth. New riders who sailed in at dawn or dusk mistook her for a second mountain on the island.

 _That we have, little one. That we have._

They knew each other so well that they hardly even needed to words to communicate their thoughts at this point. Eragon closed his eyes and basked in the thread (more like a tapestry at this point) of love, tenderness, protectiveness and mutual loss and comfort that was their bond.

 _Do you ever wonder about what would have happened… if we had chosen to stay?_ he asked.

 _I might as well wonder what would have happened if I had hatched for Roran, or when Aiedail will rise in the west. What has happened has happened, and no magic or feat can change that._ She hummed in her throat, a sound that probably reached the docks at the other end of the city. _I miss them too, little one. But we cannot bring them back. No more than we can bring back Brom or give Glaedr his body back._

Eragon was too weary to cry at that point. _It is different, when they are taken instead of lost. I do not mourn Roran; he lived a long and good life, and he died with his family. But_ her _…_

 _I know. As I know it does not matter that you had so little time together; she was the only one for you. Just as… Firnen was the only one for me. But it does no one any good to brood, least of all yourself._

Eragon shook his head. _I will never understand how you made peace with the… hollowness. But then, you have always been the stronger of the two of us._

 _I will be strong enough for both of us, if I have to._

There was a knock on the door, but Eragon wasn't surprised. He did not keep his senses fully extended as he had just after leaving for Surda, all those years ago, but neither was he ever fully cut off from the world. When he was young, the sense of weightlessness, of being lost in a sea of other thoughts, had unnerved him. Now, he felt uncomfortable if he _didn't_ feel life other than his own.

" _Enter, Zarik_ ," Eragon called out flawlessly in the tongue of the Urgralgra.

The door opened and a Kull hunched a little to enter Eragon's chambers. Zarik was the second Urgal Rider in history, and the first Rider to decide to stay on Nest with Eragon rather than return to Alagaësia. In many ways, he was Eragon's second-in-command, and one of his oldest students. They'd known each other long enough that the nature of their relationship had shifted from one of teacher-pupil to friendship, though Zarik to this day had troubles relaxing from his almost worshipful respect of Eragon to speak plainly to him. Eragon sometimes marveled that he had gone from hating Urgals irrationally to having one as his closest companion. More so than Blödhgarm even since the elf, for all the time they'd known each other, simply didn't know what it was to be a Rider.

" _Ushnark, I bring news from Du Fell Eldrvarya. Hrûnel has found something she thinks you should see_."

It was interesting to hear the Ancient Language and a Dwarvish name between the guttural language of Urgals. It reminded Eragon that he had actually accomplished something in his life, uniting the races as never before with the inclusion of dwarves and Urgals into the pact with the dragons. If nothing else, that would serve as a concrete legacy.

Eragon nodded. " _I shall not keep her waiting then. Best of luck training Sílvan later_."

Zarik grumbled under his breath. Sílvan was a particularly headstrong elf, barely twenty, who took great personal issue with having an Urgal for an instructor. Despite the fact that the Inter-Clan Games proved a major success at taming their warlike nature and that they'd had centuries to mature from the influence of dragon magic, they were still regarded as the roughest of the races. Which is why an elf, one of the Fair Folk, and young and arrogant enough to think his was the only opinion that mattered, felt insulted to have to learn from one. The other Elders had offered to take over for Zarik, but the Kull refused. He seemed to take the boy's belligerence as a personal challenge.

Eragon, without a trace of fear, leaped from his balcony. He used magic to slow his descent, and was gently caught in the air by one of Saphira's claws. She placed him down on her shoulder, and he walked over to wrap his arm around a spike thick as a tree trunk. She had long since outgrown any saddle they could possibly make. When they flew together, it was like this, or with Eragon magically stuck to her scales like glue.

It took barely ten minutes to fly from Ristvak'skul on the shore of Nest to the Burning Mountain at its heart. In the millennium they had been on Nest, it had only erupted thrice. But each time was well-remembered. The wild dragons that nested nearby had to flee lest they be melted by the lava. Hot ash made the air stink and burned to fly through. Once, when the wind blew it towards Ristvak'skul, they'd had to evacuate the city onto ships and sail away. Still, for all the danger, the wild dragons kept gravitating back towards it. Saphira told him that there was something fundamentally appealing about a heat that could melt rock to a dragon. The wild dragons, who had developed a bit of an oral history over the many years, told stories to hatchlings that the Burning Mountain was an ancient dragon who had fallen asleep and never woke up.

Saphira reached for her shoulder, and once Eragon told her he was secure she lowered him to the ground. There he met a pink dragon and female dwarf.

Hrûnel had been on Nest for just over a century. She was the most feminine female of any race Eragon had ever met, taking great joy in flowers, sewing, and cooking. She was eternally bubbly and optimistic. It clashed heavily with the personality of her dragon, Voldorzada, which meant 'Endless Love'. Despite her flowery name and bright coloring, she was the single dourest and most morose dragoness to ever fly. Oddly enough, they suited each other, two extremes balancing each other out. Voldorzada had learned of the dwarves' love of stone and tunnels from her Rider, and had decided to try it for herself. She had taken to digging into and around the base of the Burning Mountain. Hrûnel constantly fretted, afraid her dragon would unearth a vein of magma and suffer harm, but supported her dragon's desire regardless.

" _Hrûnel, you sent for me. What is it you have discovered?_ " Eragon asked, switching to Dwarvish. He'd made a point of learning the languages of the other two races he'd added to the ancient pact, so there would be no question of bias or preference by forcing them to speak Common or the Ancient Language. He'd even attempted to have Saphira teach him the language the wild dragons had developed for themselves, but his throat simply couldn't reproduce the sounds, and they mostly communicated with raw thought in any case.

" _Oh, Farthen, have you eaten yet? You seem a little peaky_ ," she asked with genuine concern. Though she called him 'father', Eragon often felt that Hrûnel acted like she was his mother, and a smothering one at that.

" _I had some bread, yes. Now please tell me why you have summoned me so early in the day."_

" _Ah, sorry. Well, Voldorzada was digging through the night, stubborn beast. She happened upon something very curious, and I thought it best that you investigate. You know more about magic than any man alive, after all."_

Eragon had some doubts about that. Rhunön was much older, and had survived the Shade since she lived far enough from Ellesmera she hadn't been caught in the destruction. And one had to wonder about the werecats. But after a millennium of study and teaching on the subject, keeping up with all recent research and doing some of his own, he certainly had a better grasp of gramarye than the average practitioner. He turned to the dragon. " _What is it you found? You think it is magical?"_

The rose dragon replied mentally, in Dwarvish as well. _It_ is _magic, teacher. Raw magic in its purest form. I came upon a natural cavern, a bubble in the earth, and in it was a pool. I thought nothing of it, but then I felt the very air begin to thrum. There is power in that water, teacher. It glimmered every shade of the rainbow, though there was no light but the glow of the stone I softened with my fire. The longer I stayed, the more intoxicated I became. I left before I did something foolish. Strangely, I cannot sense it now, no matter how I strain. Nor did I before I breached that cavern. It is very strange._

Eragon pondered what she told him. A source of wild magic, here? He had never felt anything in all the time he'd been there and called it home, and his reach and sensitivity was such he could detect microbes from Nest to the shores of the Western Continent if he applied himself. But then, magic played by its own rules. He debated just leaving it be, but he was curious. Besides, it was something _new_ , and he'd had precious little of that for a while.

" _I shall look into this cave. Where is the entrance to the tunnel?_ "

Voldorzada indicated a hole in the ground, at an angle from where she had literally crawled into the stone. Given her size, impressive if still tiny compared to Saphira, Eragon would have no problem just walking to the cavern.

 _Be careful, little one._ Saphira cautioned.

 _Aren't I always?_

Her snort sent a plume of flame long as a bow's range into the air.

Casting every ward against harm he could think of and keeping his senses sharp, Eragon descended into the tunnel.

The floor was uneven and odd from the wake of Voldorzada burrowing through it. But that was nothing for the elven grace gifted to him by the dragons, which had only improved as he had grown into his body and came to know exactly how it worked. The light from the surface dimmed quickly, but his eyes still saw through the dark as if it were lit by Erisdar. When even that light faded, Eragon conjured a werelight with a thought. It grew steadily warmer the deeper Eragon went, but he paid it no attention. When he estimated he had gone half a mile down, albeit on the winding path of the dragon's tunnel, he spotted light ahead.

Eragon stepped out of the tunnel into a natural cave, having to jump a little from the tunnel to the floor. The place was maybe a hundred yards at its widest point, and vaguely oval in shape. It was free of stalagmites or stalactites, the whole smooth, with no breaks from floor to wall to ceiling. It was indeed almost like a bubble within the rock.

At the far end from where Eragon entered, there was a pool of what looked like liquid light. Every shade of the rainbow glinted and glittered in a dazzling iridescence that lit up the cave bright as the noonday sun.

Eragon was struck dumb. It was so beautiful… so wonderful…

 _Eragon?_ Asked a worried voice, somewhere far away.

He stepped closer, becoming more and more entranced by the pool of light the closer he got. He imagined he saw flashes of faces and places and words in the liquid flickering, but he could not truly see them through the awesome color and sheer brightness.

 _Eragon, what are you doing?_

Eragon frowned and swiped at his ear, as if swatting a fly. What was that voice? It was trying to distract him from the light, and he didn't want to be. The light was perfect. It was glorious. He wanted nothing more than to look on it forever, perhaps even to touch it…

There was a deafening roar within his head and the ground above him began to shake, but the oldest Rider paid it no heed. He fell to his knees and hunched over the light, it becoming impossibly more brilliant the closer and closer he came, as if welcoming him. Unthinking, he reached out his palm. The light just beneath his palm became predominantly silver, as if reflecting the mark on his palm that proved he was a rider.

 _Little one, don't!_

The voice meant nothing to him. With the desperate hesitance of one about to touch something too beautiful for words and afraid they might tarnish it, Eragon inched his hand closer to the surface of the light.

The moment he broke the surface, his world was ice and fire and lightning and darkness and pain and pleasure and fear and exhilaration and falling down, down, down…

Xxx

Eragon returned to consciousness slowly and with great pain. His head was somehow both numb and splitting with pain. His whole body felt heavy and weak, almost as if he were drugged. His right hand tingled and burned as if from poison. And his whole sense of bearing and awareness felt oddly unbalanced, as if he had lost a limb but in his mind only.

What had happened? Had he drunk himself to excess? He only did that on the anniversary of _her_ death and that had been months ago. Had he been attacked? He trusted his students, but there had been dissent before. Nothing on the scale of Galbatorix, but it was foolish to think that in a thousand years there would not come at least one Rider who resented his power or position. But if the attack was successful enough to incapacitate him, why was he still alive at this point?

Wearily, Eragon reached out with his mind. The act came with an odd ache, as if he were straining some overworked muscle. But he could still manage, so he hadn't been given the drug to suppress magic by fogging the mind. He sensed two sleeping humans close by, a dragon hatchling, and about ten miles away a collection of sleeping humans numerous enough to be either a small town or large military contingent. What disturbed him was that none of them felt familiar, and there were far too people for it to be Nest. Where was he?

There was a warm bump to his nose. With effort, Eragon managed to open his eyes.

He became convinced that something was very wrong. His eyes weren't working properly. The room was almost completely dark, despite the clear moonlight shining through a window. Textures were muted, edges unclear, and in all it was just _less_ than he was used to. Compared to his usual clarity of sight, it was almost like being blind. Still, he surveyed his surroundings with the ease of long practice, searching for danger and gathering information on his surroundings. A bed with a single pillow, a dresser, a nightstand, a bookshelf filled with bits of rock and roots, simple trinkets. Solid wood floor, a closed door.

A small squeak caught his attention and he focused right in front of his nose. Curious blue eyes stared back at him. The hatchling he'd sensed was right in front of his face, still sticky from the yolk of the egg. Its thoughts were too young and unformed for Eragon to assign a gender, but the sapphire blue of its scales reminded Eragon of a particular dragoness.

Eragon wet his lips and spoke. " _Hello, little dragon. Do you know where we are?_ " Eragon furrowed his brows in confusion. His voice was hoarse and rough, and yet much higher-pitched than he expected. He sounded like a teenager.

The dragon just quirked its head, the truth of the Ancient Language making his meaning clear but the hatchling too young to understand. Then it projected an overwhelming sense of hunger into his mind.

Eragon frowned. How long since it had hatched? It should have been fed immediately. For that matter, what was a dragon hatchling doing with him in this strange place? Eragon was very confused, still in pain, and he felt muscles tense as the situation settled in his muddled brain. Too many things didn't add up. How had he gotten here? If he was a prisoner, why wasn't he bound? If not, why could he not remember coming here?

The dragon bit his nose and projected hunger again, uncaring about his mental turmoil compared to its empty belly.

Eragon sighed but couldn't help a small grin. He managed to heave himself up into a sitting position, every movement feeling _wrong_. His limbs were too weak, his body heavy and unbalanced, and his proportions felt off, as if he were reaching for something close by and it was suddenly an inch further away. He looked around the room for some form of nourishment for the dragon, and spotted the shell of an egg the same color as its scales.

The dragon had hatched in that room? How odd.

Reaching over, Eragon gathered up all the fragments, trying not to let any of the goo clinging to the inside spill. When he had them near his hand, he picked up one and offered it to the dragon. It looked from the piece to him uncomprehendingly, then once again projected hunger, this time squeaking.

Eragon sensed one of the nearby humans bristle, and he immediately broadcast calm and peace, sending him back into sleep. If it was a guard, he didn't want him checking up on him. If he was a host, he didn't want to wake him at night. And if he were somehow just as clueless as Eragon, he didn't want to have to explain his presence and that of a hatchling. Looking back at the dragon, Eragon pondered. Most wild hatchlings instinctively ate their shell for their first meal. Some dams made sure a fresh carcass was nearby for them to gorge on, but even then the hatchling got a taste for the yolk after cleaning their wings and finished off the rest before moving on to meat. This one seemed oddly picky.

Thinking quickly before it could make noise again, Eragon broke off a bit from the fragment he'd offered and, the dragon watching him, placed it in his mouth. He tried to express appreciation and satiety, even though it was just a slimy bit of diamond-hard calcium.

Somehow managing a skeptical expression with its young face, the hatchling reached out and opened its mouth to bite off a bit of the shell he still held out with its fully-formed teeth. Eragon sensed no real pleasure as it chewed, but its belly rumbled again and it decided that food was food. Eragon patiently fed it each fragment, until it was licking at his fingers to get the last of the yolk.

Eragon smiled gently, warmth feeling his heart. He always felt somewhat parental around young dragons, even though most he met were either wild and liable to attack if not restrained by their parents or already bonded and thus had someone to take care of them totally. A vague stirring from the long, _long_ halls of his memory arose. His first time feeding Saphira, it had been two strips of stolen jerky, which he had hesitantly given her as if approaching a snake.

As he thought on the memory, something about his surroundings struck a similar chord. Weren't they just a bit familiar? Eragon looked from the straw poking out the bottom of the mattress to a particularly gnarled root in a place of pride in the center of one of the shelfs. A mad idea to explain his situation came to him. He'd have discounted it immediately if he'd been any younger than 500, but after seeing a memory of a flying machine from one of his students that visited the court of Surda he'd learned to always keep his mind open. The world had infinite mysteries, and people who looked at something and deemed it impossible simply failed to understand just how little they understood.

Still, best to verify this somehow instead of blindly accepting it.

"Manin," he muttered, casting a simple remembering spell as he strained to recall his room when he'd lived with Garrow and Roran.

The image came to his mind, clear as day. And it matched the room he was in perfectly. He shifted focus to the night Saphira hatched, and again everything in his mind's eye and physical eye agreed. Right down to the phase of the moon visible through the window and the shape and positioning of limbs, scales, and spikes on the blue hatchling that was now nuzzling into his hand, radiating contentment at being full.

Eragon cancelled the flow of magic, feeling oddly drained for a spell that used less energy than it took to chew an apple.

Eragon turned over his right palm. His gedwëy ignasia was there, but it was pure white, without the silvery sheen. The mark was only like that when it was less than an hour old. And his palm still tingled and burned.

Eragon reached out with his mind, still feeling weirdly strained in doing so, and gently delved into the minds of the two sleeping humans in the house.

 _Katrina, hair like the sunset, coming towards me with a smile and nothing else—_

 _The farm dead, the soil fallow and the animals starving, the accusing faces of his family at his failure to provide for them—_

Eragon gently withdrew, knowing without a doubt the identities of the two men.

Speaking the Word, Eragon made a simple command to magic itself. " _Remove any illusions that are placed upon me_."

A beat, and the scene remained unchanged.

There was an adage among the elves, those who favored logic and reason above messy emotion, but still open to the idea of things they could not understand. "Once you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Eragon was back in his childhood room. His body felt weak and strange, as if his mind and body were in disagreement. There was a blue dragon in his lap who was identical to his own the night she hatched. Garrow and Roran, long dead, were sleeping on the other side of the wall. He was not under any magical illusion or trick. He was not dreaming, or even having a premonition, for he had full control of his actions and had felt pain when the dragon had bit him. And since he had no way of proving otherwise, he assumed he wasn't dead and this was the afterlife.

That left only one possibility.

 _I'm in the past_.

It took centuries of discipline to not scream.

A thousand years of work and progress, gone. Every sacrifice, every struggle, every victory, swept away. Conversely, so was every loss, every failure, every mistake. The simple fact was that it was _gone_. Unwritten. The tapestry unwoven and the threads free to make something completely new.

A seductive thought came to him. He could stop _her_ death. He could stop Brom's death. He could stop _every_ death of those he cared about. His own wisdom caught up with his childish musing. He could just as easily lose them all, and many more besides. If this wasn't a temporary phenomenon, then he had to act with extreme caution.

Eragon considered everything he knew. He wasn't bound by causality; he'd changed something by feeding Saphira a different meal, and he hadn't been wiped from existence. His body seemed to be that of his 15-year-old self, so it was just his mind that was sent back. There was a possibility that he had entered an alternate timeline and everyone was waiting for him back in 'his' future, but Eragon could conceive of no magic that could send him 1000 years into a very specific future out of infinite possibilities. He didn't understand how he could have been sent _back_.

Eragon strained his aching head, refusing to use magic again since his reserves seemed to be feeble. Slowly, he recalled flying to Du Fell Eldrvarya and hearing tale of a source of wild magic. He had a vague impression of light and falling and a screaming voice, but nothing after. Hmm, so he had been enraptured by the magic, just as Voldorzada had almost been. Perhaps her natural dragon magic, the most powerful of all, had given her more resistance than him.

Whether the pool of light was designed to send those that touched it into the past or that was just some random result of him foolishly touching raw magic, he did not know. As to why it had brought him to this specific moment, maybe it was because it was his gedwëy ignasia that had made contact, or again maybe it was coincidence. Eragon wondered if this was simply an illusion that not even the Word could dispel and it would end as soon as Saphira reached him and pulled his hand out, likely to eat him in fury afterwards. It was an amusing thought, but just as fantastic as him being permanently back, like a message in a bottle through the flow of time. He would act on the assumption that he was truly back, and his every action had permanent consequences.

So… what to do now?

His thinking was interrupted by a sudden wave of exhaustion. He almost fell over and crushed the dragon – Saphira – beneath him. He decided all this could wait for the morning. He needed time to process all this.

Cuddling the hatchling to his chest, Eragon looked down at it as his mind quieted. This wasn't _his_ Saphira. His Saphira could have fit the whole house in her mouth, and had spent a millennium getting to know him. Though identical in body, she might never be the same in mind, life shaping her differently than last time since it probably could not be the same if he tried, chaos effect being what it was. After a moment of ruminating, Eragon decided he didn't care. Saphira was his dragon, whatever form she might take, and he was her Rider.

" _You might not be what I remember,_ " he promised sleepily, " _but I'll love you just as much as I ever have._ "

Eragon didn't even feel the binding of an oath. It wasn't an obligation. It was just a statement of fact, and he wouldn't renege on it under any circumstances.

He emerged from sleep with a sense of disorientation. He'd forgotten what it was like to rest without remaining aware of his surroundings. The total loss, the complete submission to his dreams, was almost frightening.

He opened his eyes, trying to rise to full wakefulness as soon as possible. The light of the rising sun stung his eyes, the reason he was up so early. It shone through the window, peaking over mountains too short to be the Beors. Saphira, barely as big as his forearm, sat on the bedpost regarding the dawn.

Eragon regarded her, shining like a living jewel in the light. It was true then. He was truly back. Back before Galbatorix had fallen, before the war to overthrow him had truly even started. Back before anyone he ever loved had died. Back when he was nothing but a farm boy with a knack for hunting.

Well, he was more than that now. He retained all his memories, centuries of knowledge and wisdom and training. He was as far from the ignorant boy he had been as a scholar from an ant. His body was pitiful compared to what he was used to, but he knew the methods to make it stronger. He had dedicated his life to teaching, and it would be simple enough to follow his own lessons. And he still had magic. He was unsure exactly how much power he had or how efficiently he could use it, but he was still able to manipulate the world with naught but his will and words in a language he could speak as if it were his native tongue. Oromis had warned him that speaking the Ancient Language as well as an elf would take a lifetime, and Eragon had had several lifetimes to practice.

So, he could do more now than he could have before. But the question was, what exactly would he do?

Eragon's first thought was to find Brom. He was intelligent, wise, and much more in touch with 'current' events than Eragon. And as his father, and a former Rider besides, he was the least likely to turn him away. And, provided he handled it delicately, Brom would be at least willing to hear Eragon try to explain how he was from literal ages into the future.

So, a trip to Brom was a must, preferably as soon as possible. But what to do with Saphira? He couldn't leave her here. Roran and Garrow would have an apoplexy if they discovered a dragon in the house, and Eragon wasn't sure he could introduce her in any way that wouldn't lead to panic. Until he could work out exactly how to reveal the fact that he was a Rider, let alone from the future, it was best to leave them in blissful ignorance. Eragon debated leaving her in the forest, as he vaguely recalled he had done the 'first' time, but he wasn't comfortable with that. Unlike last time, he hardly thought a hatchling a defenseless animal. However, he was reluctant to have her away from him. He loved her. It wasn't the love for a sister, or a daughter, or a spouse, but it had elements of all three. He was her Rider. And feeling how innocent and carefree she was made him feel protective. He didn't want to leave her alone for a long stretch of time for the sake of keeping her secret. So what did that leave him?

Settling on a course of action some might call reckless, but he would insist was decisive, Eragon got up. He searched for boots and laced them on. Then he investigated the drawer for another shirt. Finding it, he turned to regard Saphira. He occurred to him he hadn't even named her yet.

" _Dragon_ ," he said gently. She turned to him. Reaching out so she could hear the words in her mind as well and feel his sincerity, he said " _I am your friend. Your name is… Saphira. I am… Eragon. I mean you no harm. Please, come here._ " Eragon hesitated to use their true names. He wasn't sure if hers was the same as it was when she first discovered it, and they simply didn't have time for them to say his in full.

Tilting her head, she regarded him for a moment before nodding. Then she hopped from the bed to glide to his feet.

Gently, with a great deal of disagreement on her part that he did his best to silence, he wrapped her in the shirt until not a hint of blue was showing. She didn't like being blinded and bundled up, but he managed to calm her with soothing thoughts and letting her see through his eyes. She froze as soon as he gently pulled her into his mind. It occurred to him that he might have overwhelmed her. Despite her ancestral memories, she was as good as an infant, and his was one of the oldest, most powerful minds in the world. But he doubted it would do her any harm as long as he did nothing to purposefully hurt her, and if it kept her docile than it was for the best.

Struggling more than he could believe with the bundle in his arms, Eragon quietly opened the door and slipped through the sleeping house. The layout was completely foreign, but he found his steps carrying him through it with confidence. He would have to explain his absence when they woke up, but that would come after he managed to discuss things with Brom and was hopefully more settled.

It was bracingly cold, a fresh layer of snow laying on the grass. Eragon made sure he was holding Saphira comfortably, then set out down the tracks already made. He was shocked at how clumsy he was. Whether it was because he was still readjusting to his body or he really used to be this ungraceful, he couldn't tell. Still, he tried to move with as much haste as he could. The fewer people saw him on the way to Brom's, the less suspicion there would be. He was sweating by the time he reached the outskirts of Carvahall, a fact that galled him. Even before he'd taken up the sword, he'd gone hunting and done hard work on the farm. Surely he had more endurance than this.

Saphira stirred in his arms, the novelty of his sight wearing off. He felt how uncomfortable she was being supported by his bony arms, and she wanted to stretch her wings fiercely. He pacified her as much as he could as he tried to reach Brom's house without drawing attention. He was guided more by the weight of the man's slumbering mind than actual memory. Eragon made sure his touch was extremely light. He didn't want him to wake and expect attack. That would just complicate what was sure to be a difficult conversation in the first place.

Eragon made it to the door of the 'storyteller' without spotting a single soul. The only ones awake were Horst, on the other side of town, and one or two wives up early to start breakfast. Raising one hand to knock on the door, and embarrassed at how Saphira's weight almost proved too much for him, Eragon tried to rouse Brom without waking up the rest of the street.

The moment he felt the mind sharpen, Eragon retreated behind his own walls. He made one more knock, then prepared himself to see his father as best he could.

He was ill-prepared when the door opened and a head of silver hair above narrowed eyes regarded him. He felt his heart skip a beat as he saw his first mentor living and breathing before him. Now that he knew to look, he noticed they had the same chin, and there was something about the set of the eyes that was familiar, even after his transformation. Eragon felt his throat choke up. He had buried this man. He had never gotten to know him as anything but a teacher.

Brom spoke sharply, breaking him from his trance. "What is it, boy? Why have you woken me at this hour?"

Eragon gulped. Words seemed to have escaped him. Finally, he managed "I need your help."

His father frowned. "What could be so important that could not wait for a more reasonable time?"

At that moment, Saphira discovered an opening in his prison and stuck her head out a sleeve. She shook her head, enjoying the fresh air now that it wasn't filtered through rough cloth, and regarded the stunned man before her curiously.

Eragon felt some of his sense return, and couldn't help the dry wit that colored his tone. "Can you let us in soon? She hasn't had breakfast yet."

Looking as if, well, a dragon had shown up at his door, Brom widened the door and ushered them in. He closed it almost as soon as Eragon cleared it, and he slid closed a solid deadbolt. With rote movements, the man maneuvered around scrolls and books that overflowed from the writing desk and chairs of the room to the fireplace. As he did, Eragon carefully freed Saphira from the shirt, her spikes often catching on the cloth. She leapt from his arms as soon as she was free, regarding everything with both childlike enthusiasm and the unconcerned air of a cat. Eragon strongly urged her not to touch any of the delicate paper, but left her free to wander.

Brom managed to get the fire lit and hung a kettle over it. He retreated further into the house and returned with a raw steak and a loaf of bread. He laid the meat carefully before Saphira, who fell upon it with all the voracity of a hungry predator, and split the loaf in half and offered one to Eragon. Eragon chewed slowly, grateful after the underestimated ordeal of carrying Saphira, and watched Brom warily. They ate in silence, and by the time they'd finished the bread the kettle had begun to whistle. Brom lifted it and dropped a few leaves into it. Then he procured two mugs and poured the steaming tea into both. He offered one to Eragon, and took a sip. That done, he set it carefully atop one of the piles of books surrounding his best chair in front of the fire. He took out a pipe and packed it with what Eragon knew to be cadmus weed, and lit it with a nearby tinderbox.

Only after a deep drag did he finally speak, indicating a still eating Saphira with his free hand. "Explain." It was not Brom the storyteller that spoke, but the Brom whom had founded and led the Varden.

Eragon decided to start with just the facts of history, before mentioning his own unique circumstances. "About… three weeks ago, I was in the Spine. The egg appeared in an explosion, though I didn't know what it was at the time. It was obviously magic, and very pretty, so I thought I could sell it."

Eragon noticed the anger flash in Brom's eyes. He couldn't blame him. Even pardoning his ignorance, it was almost a crime to treat a dragon egg so callously.

"Sloan wouldn't take it when he heard I found it in the Spine. I held onto it until the traders arrived. The jeweler… Merlock refused it as well. I brought it home and kept it in my room. Last night, she hatched."

Brom breathed deeply from the pipe, looking between Eragon and Saphira as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You think she is female?"

Eragon hid a wince. He shouldn't have known that. Then again, he was here to tell Brom everything. "I know she is."

Brom narrowed his eyes at him. "What makes you think you know anything about dragons? And why bring her to me, in any case?"

Eragon braced himself. He was about to make Brom as confused and disconcerted as he had been last night, if not more so. " _I came to you because you are my father and a Rider._ "

Brom choked on his smoke, his eyes widening until Eragon could see more white than blue. Saphira looked up in confusion. She sent a questioning feeling to Eragon, wondering what was wrong with the one that brought food, and he assured her she was okay. Mollified, she tried to finish off the last bits of red beef, though her belly was already swelled with her feast.

Eragon felt a ram come at his thoughts. He repelled it with a bit more difficulty than he expected from a mind a tenth as old as his, making Brom find nothing but a constant string of him thinking ' _I am your son, Eragon_ ' in the Ancient Language. The probe retreated, and Brom looked as if someone had struck him in the gut. The pipe fell from limp fingers, spilling ash across the floor. He looked at Eragon with confusion, disbelief, even a little fear, but also the slightest bit of hope.

"How?" he asked in a thin voice, his body somehow both tense with anxiety and loose with shock.

Eragon sighed. "It's hard to explain. I barely understand it myself. If you will let me, I'd prefer to show you." He added on in the Ancient Language " _I swear not to harm you if you consent to allow me into your mind._ "

Brom stared at him for several tense minutes. Saphira came over and poked at Eragon's knee. He absently scratched her head, never taking his gaze from Brom. Finally, with a wariness that was almost palpable, the former Rider nodded.

Eragon reached out with his mind and met Brom's. He saw and felt him stiffen in surprise. Brom's mind was formidable, strengthened by almost a century of unwavering resolve to destroy Morzan and Galbatorix, thrumming with the power of a wise if not particularly strong magician, still touched by the echo of a dragon's thoughts and magic. It was akin to a sturdy bonfire, worn down with age, but still bright and hot and worthy of caution.

In comparison, Eragon's mind was the sun.

His head was filled with so many memories and pieces of knowledge that he couldn't handle them all at once, tumbling and flowing over and within each other like currents through the ocean. Like the mind of an elf, his thoughts sang with music, but it was more like a full chorus and orchestra than a haunting soloist like _her_ mind had been when he'd felt it last. The notes were slightly discordant, his mind still not fully in sync with its new host, but they spoke of his power and age. And every inch was touched by the trace of his own magic, greatly diminished but still potent, and the lingering influence of 'his' Saphira's mind and bond, that of the Mother of Dragons.

Sure that the link was stable, and hoping Brom was not struck too dumb to see what he was about to show, Eragon again said " _Memory_ " as he had last night and dove back to the beginning of his journey.

If flowed smoothly and continuously, like a fairth given motion and sound. Realizing what Saphira was and hiding her away in the forest. Caring for her in secret, coming to Brom in search of answers. The Ra'zac coming, and Saphira kidnapping him in instinctive fear. Returning to find the house destroyed and Garrow dying, and the horrible deathwatch. Swearing vengeance for his uncle, and Brom revealing himself to know Eragon was a Rider and offering to help him in his quest. Following the trail of the Ra'zac through Palancar Valley and beyond, the horror of Yazuac, learning magic after his first accidental use. Discovering the flask of Seithr oil and shifting course for Teirm. Meeting Jeod, Angela's prophecy and Solembaum's advice, breaking into the castle for the records. Confronting Brom on the way to Dras-Leona and learning of the Varden, reaching the city of the Ra'zac, discovery and flight, Brom injured and Eragon saved by a boy named Murtagh. Brom's death, after revealing part of his history and his parting words, which to this day Eragon had never used. His dreams of _her_ , Saphira revealing a Varden contact and the decision to go to Gil'ead. Capture, rescue, the temporary loss of Durza and the recovery of _her_. Fleeing across the desert, then sprinting even faster through the Beors after being shown the way to the Varden. Being saved at the gate from Urgals, seeing Tronjheim and Farthen Dûr, meeting Ajihad, the battle against the Urgals and the confrontation with Durza. Being saved by a being who called himself the Mourning Sage, discovering the wound on his back.

Eragon could see that Brom was already overwhelmed, but he continued on. Now that he'd started, he found there was something strangely therapeutic to reliving his life, looking on all his past with new eyes. He showed Brom more. The ambush of Ajihad, the loss of Murtagh and the Twins, Ajihad's funeral. Traveling to Du Weldenvarden, meeting the elves, finally reaching Ellesmera to discover _her_ true origins and meeting Oromis and Glaedr. Training for months, realizing the folly he'd done with Elda, the changes wrought on him at the Blood-Oath Celebration, confessing to _her_ and being rejected. Learning the plight of those they'd left behind and making for Surda. The battle of the Burning Plains, Murtagh's reappearance, the death of Hrothgar and the horrible confrontation where he lost his sword and his peace of mind. Reuniting with Roran and learning of all that had befallen Carvahall in his absence, swearing to rescue Katrina.

Storming Helgrind, defeating the Ra'zac with great effort, rescuing Sloan and figuring out his true name. Making back for the Varden, finding Tenga and his ramblings of the 'question', running into _her_ , the night they talked and he made _her_ a flower transformed by spirits that appeared and thanked him for slaying Durza. Lifting the curse he'd placed on a babe, gifts of gold, the battle the day of Roran's wedding and realizing Murtagh was somehow stronger than him and the twelve spellcasters of the elves combined. Traveling with Orik and Nar Garzhvog, witnessing the politics of the dwarves, the coronation and the repair of the Star Sapphire. Returning to Ellesmera, learning of Brom's true history and the Eldunari, forging Brisingr with Rhunön. The siege of Feinster and battling a Shade yet again, with _her_ defeating it, feeling Oromis die and Glaedr lose his body, revealing the truth to _her_ and Nasuada as they planned how to retake the Empire.

Seizing Belatona, the alliance with the werecats, singing to Hope through the night. Sneaking into Dras-Leona, capture and the threat of being eaten by Ra'zac spawn, being saved by Angela and Solembaum. Confronting Murtagh and Thorn, Nasuada's kidnapping, becoming leader of the Varden. Seeking out the Vault of Souls, learning his true name, discovering hope and salvation. Marching on Urû'baen, confronting Galbatorix and Shruikan in the throne room, horror as it was made clear he had discovered the Word, the Name of Names (Eragon carefully hid the actual word from the memory. He trusted Brom, but not with that power. He barely trusted himself with it.) Murtagh realizing his Name had changed, stripping the mad king of his defenses, Eragon defeating him by making him feel all the pain he had caused, protecting them all from his final strike with the power of the Eldunari. Nasuada becoming Queen, searching for a safe place to rebuild in Alagaësia and realizing there was none, uniting the races before resigning to leave, his last meeting with _her_ and learning she was also a Rider, and that both their love and that of their dragons' was doomed. Leaving Alagaësia and fulfilling his oldest premonition.

Eragon skimmed over what came next, only making sure Brom was aware of the passage of many years. Discovering Nest, building Ristvak'skul, cementing his place as Father of Riders over centuries of teaching, losing _her_ , learning how to continue on, a curious discovery one morning, his madness as he entered the cavern and saw the liquid magic, a moment that defied even the power of Eragon's spell to truly recall, and finally waking up back where it had all begun.

Eragon released the spell, and almost passed out as he became aware of the drain on his resources. He dimly realized that it wasn't just that his body had less energy, but it wasn't used to channeling magic yet. It was like firing from a glass cannon. He shakily reached for his tea, now stone cold. Eragon saw that the sun was now high in the sky, and Saphira had grown bored and knocked over all the books. She now curled in front of the sputtering fire, feeling a little hungry again already. She seemed to have already grown visibly.

Brom took a great heave of air, gasping for almost a full minute as he seemed to return to himself at last. He gripped the handles of his chair so tightly his hands turned white. His eyes turned glazed and breathing slowed. Eragon recognized the signs of meditation and left him to it. It was maybe an hour before Brom emerged, Eragon discovering the larder and feeding Saphira lunch in the meantime while he chewed absently on a hunk of cheese.

"Oh, my son," the older in body yet younger in mind breathed. "You have been through more than I can possibly understand."

Eragon shrugged. It was his life. He regretted parts of it, but he would never deny it was his. "I survived. And it seems my wyrd to endure it all again."

"Indeed." Brom seemed to consider his next words carefully. "The elf woman you loved… was she Arya?"

Eragon flinched. Hearing her name was like a knife to his heart. He couldn't even bring himself to think it in the privacy of his mind. A tentative hope reminded him she was _alive_ , but his long denied heart reminded him that it hardly meant their love could work out this time, or that it would even bloom on her part. "Yes." Eragon scoffed. "As you told Saphira to tell me, fate seems to enjoy toying with our family in that regard."

Brom winced. "Yes, it would appear so."

Eragon felt wrung out. His body still trembled from the effort of his spell, and his mind felt strangely blank. He felt it would take some time and many hours of meditation for the effects of reliving his life to settle. A large part of him called out for comfort, but centuries had taught him how to weather on without it. But just this once, he felt like succumbing to it.

"I don't know how to ask this… but can you hug me?" Eragon asked.

Brom seemed surprised, but his face settled into a curious, tentative hope. "Really? You're an older man than even I am."

"An old man in the body of a boy, whom has never felt his father's embrace. Not that age should matter; I'm human, and sometimes I'm not strong enough to handle things all on my own. I think that holds true for every race, even the dragons." Eragon looked at the young Saphira, remembering all the times that she'd confided in him, that he had shouldered her worries and concerns, just as she had done in turn for him whenever he had needed it.

Brom seemed to debate with himself for a moment. Then he stood, walked over, and pulled Eragon up into his grasp. Eragon felt warmth radiate from the old but still strong arms, smelled the unique scent of Brom that came off his skin and clothes, felt that white beard tickle his cheek and ear. He brought his arms up to hold his father even closer. He realized he was sobbing, and was powerless to stop it. What strength he had left seemed to drain away, and he almost collapsed. But his father held him, gently lowering him to the ground and continuing to hold him as his emotions broke free of his control. Eragon felt wetness in his hair, and realized Brom was crying as well, albeit silently.

They held each other for a priceless time. It was broken by a worried squeak, and the sensation of something ramming their sides. Eragon turned to see Saphira looking at him, their bond sending confusion and worry. She did not like to see him cry.

Eragon chuckled wetly. " _Peace, Saphira. I will be okay._ "

She backed off, satisfied, and turned to investigate the kettle.

Brom hadn't yet let go. "You named her Saphira?" he asked, an old pain in his voice.

Eragon laughed, but it was bittersweet. "It was the only name you gave me that she liked."

"It suits her."

They sat there in silence, recovering from the emotional moment. They kept their arms around each other, neither wanting to be the first to let go. The choice was stolen from them when Saphira knocked over the kettle and sent water spreading across the floor.

With an oath, Brom surged to his feet with speed that belied his apparent age, reaching to save the books and scrolls near the spill. Wiping at his eyes, Eragon reached for the shirt he had transported Saphira in and used it to mop up the water. If possible, he felt even weaker than before, but his heart was light.

Once they had saved the valuable texts, the returned to their seats. Eragon picked up Saphira and had her curl in his lap. Her favorite 'spots' proved to be the same, even at this size, and Eragon soon had her humming beneath his hand. Brom recovered his pipe and relit it. Once he'd had a few good puffs, he blew out a cloud of smoke and seemed to settle into a mood of contemplation.

"So… what is it you will do?"

Eragon sighed. A part of him had hoped that Brom would take authority, but that was foolish. His was the greater experience, and he knew more details. Brom was there to be a sounding board, not the strategist himself. "This is what has to be done. I need to get back in shape, both physically and magically. The Varden must be alerted of my existence. A… Arya must be saved from Gil'ead. Murtagh must be found." Eragon saw Brom's lips twist and felt his face harden. "He's my brother, a fellow Rider, and nothing like his father." That cut his father to the quick. He indicated for Eragon to go on. "The Ra'zac must die. Durza must die. Galbatorix must die. Ideally, the elves should be alerted, the Eldunari recovered from the Vault, and the eggs of Thorn and Firnen freed from Urû'baen."

Brom spoke up. "That will have to wait for after the war. It's suicide to sneak into Urû'baen a second time, and the eggs are protected by Galbatorix's wards. If he has access to these Eldunari as well as a century of growth from the Fall, I doubt all the magicians in Alagaësia could overpower him."

Eragon shook his head. "You forget; I know the Word. I can undo those wards with a single sentence. The only challenge will be getting the energy to transport them from a safe distance. That might have to wait until after we open the Vault."

Brom frowned. "If those eggs vanish from beneath his nose, Galbatorix might ride out from Urû'baen himself."

Eragon frowned. "There is that to consider. But he's never seen me. If he tried to scry the eggs, he wouldn't see me. If I did it alone, from far enough away, I might be able to outrun him."

Brom shook his head. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Having three Riders against Galbatorix would be a godsend, but not at the cost of the one we have."

Eragon smiled grimly. "I'd forgotten the burden of being the only one. It's quite… restricting."

Brom shrugged. "And yet, you must bear it. You must wage this war a second time, and you are a precious asset to the cause."

Eragon nodded. He thought carefully for a few minutes. "How does this sound for a general plan? I stay here and train myself and Saphira until the Ra'zac arrive. By the time they do, you, Saphira and I should be ready to face them. We travel afterwards to Teirm, so Jeod can send a message and be alerted to the Twins' sabotage. We take a boat to Vroengard, where Saphira and I open the Vault. We travel to Gil'ead, rescue Arya, and kill Durza. With him dead, the Urgals will be freed of the spells on them and should turn on the Empire. We meet up with Murtagh, _maybe_ retrieve the eggs, and make for the Varden. We have the army mobilize and make for Surda, we rally the elves, and retake the Empire."

Brom frowned. "I'll agree to the route we take; it reaches the most objectives in the least amount of time. Killing Durza is a gamble; I don't doubt you could do it, but we can't predict how the Urgals will react. They could just as easily stay their course to invade, or run wild through the Empire and injure hundreds. I advise against getting the eggs, no matter how far away you are. The invasion most definitely has to be worked out more. And just how do you plan on finding Murtagh? He came to you, if I recall correctly."

"There's a form of scrying that can pull back from the target to show the surrounding area. Zoom far enough out and I can track him with a map."

Brom nodded. "Very well. That just leaves one question: how do we get back to Garrow's farm?"

Eragon regarded the bustling town outside the safety of Brom's house. "We might need a… distraction."

 **And that's where I'll leave it. I wrote the bulk of this years ago. I'm just now deciding to post it. Hope you all enjoy.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the awaited update. I've decided to go for 5k chunks instead of 10k hunks. Hope this was worth the wait.**

* * *

"Fire!" Brom shouted. "Fire! Don't just stand there, you fools! Fire!"

As Brom ran through the streets, a small blaze flickered in the trees from where he came. It was at the edge of the woods, and the snow would act as a natural barrier, but still the townsfolk of Carvahall rallied. No chances could be taken with flame that might grow out of control and burn down the whole forest and mayhaps take the town with it.

The bucket brigade began swiftly, men and women working together to throw melted snow and dirt onto the base of the doomed trees. Within half an hour, the fire was dead.

Brom, whom had taken part in the effort to put out the fires, explained himself to those that questioned him. "Damnedest thing. I was enjoying my pipe when I started to smell smoke. Stray spark from my tinderbox must have fallen on some kindling. Bad luck, very bad luck. I am so terribly sorry for causing such a fuss."

Given that the fire had not grown beyond their ability to down and was safely extinguished, the majority of people decided to write it off as an exciting interlude to the day and leave it at that. More than a few spoke ill under their breath about Brom's age and the dementia that seemed to have started to manifest. Brom endured it all, until finally the crowd let go of him. He made his way back towards his home, grabbing some supplies and placing them into a pack. Then he slipped out a backdoor and make a fast dash for the woods.

Sharp eyes followed the subtle clues that had been left for him, until the former Rider found himself on the path from Carvahall to Garrow's cottage, about a mile away from town. There, he found Eragon and Saphira waiting for him.

"I wasn't followed or even seen, so far as I can tell," Eragon said in greeting. "Is everyone okay?"

"No one was harmed, and only a couple trees were burnt," Brom stated. "Tell me, do I have a pyromaniac for a son? You seem to solve a great many problems with fire."

"It is a versatile tool, you must admit," Eragon fired back. "And it was the first word I learned in the Ancient Language, and eventually the name of my sword. It seems to be a part of me."

"Well, in any case, your little ruse worked. Now we simply have to make it back to your uncle's house and explain to your family that you are now a Dragon Rider."

Eragon huffed a breath, reaching up to pat Saphira. He winced slightly as her talons dug through his shirt and into his skin, but he was reluctant to move her from his shoulder. Soon she would be large enough that Eragon would be the one perching on her shoulder, and he wanted to enjoy the novelty of her small stature while he could. Plus, there was a simple, instinctive part of him that wanted to keep in constant contact with his dragon, one mirrored in Saphira to stay with her Rider. "The fire will prove less of a fuss to handle than Garrow in a tantrum."

"Allow me to do the talking. Remember, we must keep your foreknowledge a secret for as long as possible. We can't chance the information getting back to Galbatorix, and it's simply less complicated for you to pretend than to explain your… unique circumstances. You're simply a poor, ignorant farm boy who hatched a dragon and came running to the local storyteller for advice."

Eragon nodded, though he remained troubled. "It's been lifetimes since I saw their faces. I can't promise they won't notice something… off about me."

"With any luck, they'll focus more on the living legend using you for a stool than your odd behavior," Brom assured him.

"Indeed. Well… the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Eragon took a stride into the snow, making it to the tracks he'd made earlier than morning. Brom followed in his wake. The two picked their way through the snow, the miles vanishing steadily beneath their feet, until they were in view of the farm.

Garrow and Roran were outside working, shoveling the snow away from the house and barn. Eragon froze when he saw them.

"They're so… young," Eragon finally managed. "No wonder _she_ could not imagine being with me. I look at them and see children."

Brom put a hand on Eragon's back. "None of that, now. You're but fifteen, remember?"

The traveller through time took a deep breath, wrapping his mind around Saphira and drawing her close to his heart. The young dragoness purred and coiled her tail around Eragon's neck. Emotionally exhausted from his harrowing morning, but recognizing that this was necessary, Eragon stepped forward. "Uncle! Roran!"

The two looked up. Roran dropped his shovel and ran over, while Garrow stood his ground, his eyes narrowed. "Eragon! Where were you? Did you go all the way to Carvahall? Why is Brom here?" Eragon's cousin halted midstep, almost falling over into the snow. "Is… is that a dragon?!"

Eragon put on a shaky smile, hoping to convey an overwhelmed daze rather than nostalgic melancholy. "It was an egg. The stone… it was an egg."

Brom stepped forward. "Roran, there's a great deal we all must discuss. I think it best if we join your father inside."

Blinking, unable to take his eyes of Saphira, Roran nodded. The three (well, four counting the dragon) walked over to Garrow, who seemed to be stuck still with a harsh frown.

"Father, it's Eragon. He's got a dragon," Roran said in a near-whisper, as if he were afraid to shatter the moment.

Garrow hiked up his shovel. "I knew nothing good would come of that stone. Give it here, Eragon. I'll save us all the trouble."

Eragon gaped, realizing with horror that Garrow meant to… he couldn't even finish the thought. Eragon stepped back, bringing up his hands to bring Saphira into his arms. She whined, but complied when he gave her a mental shove. Eragon turned and huddled around her, shielding her from Garrow's baleful gaze. His uncle's frown turned into a grimace. "For the love of the gods boy, see sense! It's either we kill it or the Empire kills us all!"

"But Father!" Roran started.

"Hush, boy!"

"Garrow Cadocson," Brom said, his voice low but throbbing with fury. "Say one more word of threat against that dragon and I will consider you an enemy."

Garrow swiveled his head to face Brom. In that moment, Eragon saw past his own fear to see his uncle's. The man was terrified. He hid it well, but his heart was pounding and his movements were jittery. The simple farmer was panicking. "Oh, really? And why should I fear some old storyteller?"

With movements faster than most eyes could follow, Brom reached out and ripped the shovel right out of Garrow's hands. He brought it down on his knee, splitting the sturdy wood into two halves, before tossing them behind his shoulders. Garrow gaped, suddenly disarmed and seeming quite thin and gaunt next to Brom.

"Now, before anyone else does anything foolish, let's all go inside and have some tea. That should give time for tempers to cool and for everyone to see sense. For gods' sakes, there's a reason we aren't born with rocks in our heads!"

Eragon moved first, still shielding Saphira from Garrow's direct line of sight. He walked into the small house and sat down at a chair, curling Saphira in his lap. She crooned up at him, concerned for his concern. He did his best to soothe her given his own troubled mind. The other three men followed in. Even though it was Garrow's house, it was clear Brom was in charge. With a few mental questions to Eragon, Brom got the kettle and set up the tea. He handed a cup to each of them, taking a draw from his own, piping-hot just how he liked it. Then he set his cup down, and began to talk.

"Let's get the obvious out in the open. Some weeks ago, when Eragon was hunting, the egg appeared before him. He kept it, and you all tried to sell it but the traders wouldn't take it. Just last night, it hatched, giving birth to the dragon you see now. When Eragon touched her, they bonded on a level that none of us can ever hope to understand. He is her Rider now. As the nearest thing to an expert on dragon lore in the area, he came to me this morning with questions and seeking help." Brom frowned. "I'm now doubly glad that he did. Based on your reaction, Garrow, you might have slain out of hand the one chance this world has to see Galbatorix brought down."

"He's a _boy!_ " Garrow hissed. "And it's just a beast! I'll not see us all executed or worse, Eragon made a slave of that mad bastard we call a king!"

Eragon spoke up. He tried to sound like a boy and not a sage, but he wasn't sure it worked. Not that it mattered; when it came to Saphira, he was serious as the plague. "If you kill her, uncle, I'll kill you myself."

Roran winced. "Eragon, don't say things you don't mean."

"I haven't. She's _mine_. I can't explain it. She's mine the way you're Garrow's or Katrina is yours. I can't live without her."

Garrow banged his fist on the table. "Damn it all, Eragon! Cast off whatever sorcery that thing put on you and see reason! You cannot be a Rider!"

"Why not?" Eragon and Brom asked in unison.

Garrow frowned and looked between them. "Because, you're just a farm boy."

"Plenty of farm boys became Riders, in the old days," Brom stated placidly.

"These aren't the old days! This isn't the start of one of your fanciful tales of heroism. Eragon cannot become a Dragon Rider!"

Eragon sighed. "I already am."

"No, you're not!" Garrow insisted.

"I'm not saying I'm a warrior, or a magician, or know anything besides how to hunt and tend a farm," Eragon said resolutely. "But I _am_ a Dragon Rider. My dragon is Saphira. Whatever magic binds us together, I already love her."

Brom spoke up before Garrow could counter. "Garrow, stop and look at the big picture. I know you love him. Believe me, I do too. You fear for his life. But it's not his own life to lose. The moment he and Saphira bonded, he became the only hope of Men, the Dragons, the Dwarves, the Elves, even the Urgals. Whether we like it or not, he has a duty greater than any of this."

Garrow narrowed his eyes. "What claim do you have to him? What makes you think you have any idea what I'm feeling, huh?"

"He's my son," Brom said simply.

Garrow and Roran weren't the only ones to gape.

 _What happened to only telling them what was necessary?_ Eragon asked with his mind, unheard by the other two.

 _This_ is _necessary, in order for him to let you go._ Brom opened his mouth and continued. "Whatever you think of me, know that I loved Selena very much. After she died and I learned of Eragon's existence, I came here looking for him. Then I saw him happy and whole with you and Marian, and couldn't bring myself to take him from you. But now, the time has come for me to take over his teaching. I will raise him to be the Rider Alagaësia needs."

Roran seemed stuck speechless. Garrow's mouth sucked in like he'd bit into a lemon. "Father or not, what makes you think you can teach him anything? Filling his head with stories of the Riders' glory won't make him one."

Brom gave a wry grin. "I had a life before I settled down in Carvahall as a storyteller. In years past, I had a great many pursuits. Among them were swordcraft, tactics, and even magic."

Garrow flinched. "How do I know you aren't simply mad?"

Brom rolled his eyes. He held out his hand and said "Brisingr." Flames appeared in his hand, glittering with blue tones, before vanishing into thin air. Garrow and Roran's jaws dropped nearly to the table.

 _You were right; it is versatile._

Eragon hid a grin and spoke up. "I need training. Brom is willing to give it to me. I'd prefer if it happened here, so we could stay together as long as possible. But if we can't have your blessing, we'll leave. We'll go into hiding and stay on the road, until I'm ready to do what is necessary."

Garrow seemed at a loss. He finally took a sip of his tea. He put the cup down a tad harder than he had to. "Okay. Say I play along with this madness. We raise the beast here and you make a warrior out of a fifteen-year-old boy. What happens when whoever or whatever made the bloody egg appear in the Spine comes looking? What happens when the Empire comes searching for rumors of a dragon seen flying in the sky?"

Brom smiled. "Ah, let me alay at least one of your concerns. I have reason to believe the stone was meant for me, sent by an elven woman I trust. Given the circumstances that would make her desperate enough to do such a thing, she can be forgiven for being so far off course."

Roran coughed. "Um, Brom? Why would an elf send the egg to you?"

Brom sighed. "Because both I and the elf work for the Varden."

Garrow clenched his hands into claws. "So, there's the truth of it. You _want_ him to take up arms against the king and get killed."

"I don't want him or anyone dead, except Galbatorix. If I have to give my life to protect his, I will. Because only another Rider can kill Galbatorix. Eragon is what we've been waiting and hoping for for _decades_ , ever since we first stole the egg from Ûru'baen."

Roran was still catching up. "The _Varden_? The rebels? You?"

Brom looked at Roran with waning patience. "I already said I had a life before coming here, Roran. Yes, the Varden. We're small and struggling, but we all share a dream: a land free of the tyranny of Galbatorix. I'm going to teach Eragon everything I know about how to fight, because we need him. Not just as a warrior, but as a symbol. A free Rider would bring _hope_ back to the people. And that's something we need to win this war."

Garrow scoffed. "That's what you think will win a war? Hope?"

Brom eyed him intensely. "Yes, Garrow, I do. Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. A single spark can start an inferno. Eragon and Saphira will be our hope. He's already accepted the responsibility, Garrow. Will you accept your own, or is this the last you'll ever see of your nephew?"

Eragon saw the doubt and hesitation. He couldn't stop himself from speaking. "Uncle, please. I don't want to lose you just yet. The moment I believe that my staying here would put you or Roran in danger, I'll leave. But please, let me stay for just a bit. Let me enjoy a little more time with family before I have to go off and win a war."

Garrow gave a long-suffering sigh. "Just as stubborn as your mother," he muttered to himself. "Fine, fine, fine! You and your beast can stay. Just don't ask me to like it."

Eragon bowed his head. "Thank you, Uncle Garrow."

Garrow got up and went to his room, slamming the door behind him. Roran was left looking between Brom, Eragon, and the dragon that had just crawled onto the table. "It's beautiful," Roran said.

Eragon smiled. " _She_ is, yes. You can pet her, if she likes you."

Roran reached out a hesitant hand. Eragon conveyed the truth of Roran's friendship with the Ancient Language and feelings of trust, prompting Saphira to allow the clumsy touches. She even purred when the 17-year-old managed to get a good spot.

"Amazing," Roran breathed out. "Eragon… I don't even know what to say."

Eragon breathed deep. "Maybe there's nothing to be said. This means that things will change, but what's most important will remain the same." Eragon reached over to clap a shoulder. "You'll always be like a brother to me, even when I'm off saving the kingdom and rescuing beautiful women."

Roran chuckled. "Thanks for that, I suppose." Roran eyed Brom. "So… does this make you my uncle?"

Brom snorted. "Alas, no. Selena and I were… not meant to last. Eragon was born out of wedlock, but that should mean nothing to the rational mind."

Eragon shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. I have a father, I have an uncle, I have a cousin, I have a dragon. That is my family."

Roran looked at Saphira, whom was scratching at her wing joint. "You truly care for her that much already?"

Eragon revealed the gedwëy ignasia. "This marks where I touched her, where the ancient magic bound us together. We belong to each other, it's that simple." Eragon chuckled. "Maybe one day you'll become a Rider too and understand."

Roran shook his head. "Oh, no. No thank you. I prefer my feet kept firmly on the ground."

Brom stood up. "Well, fascinating as this conversation has been, we have work to do."

Roran blinked. "What, now?"

Eragon stood up, holding out an arm for Saphira to climb. "Every second counts. Brom says that whoever attacked the elf guarding the egg will come looking. I may only have weeks before the Empire or someone worse comes searching for the egg. We'll draw them away when we leave, but my training needs to start as soon as possible."

Roran nodded slowly. "And I thought I had it bad with winter chores."

Eragon grinned. Then he followed Brom outside.

"That went well, I think," his father stated.

"As well as could be expected, I suppose," Eragon mused.

"So, shall I decide your training or shall we defer to your greater experience?" Brom asked facetiously.

Eragon glanced back at the house. "We need privacy. Let's go into the woods."

They walked a fair ways into the forest, the trees like the pillars of a citadel amongst the snowy ground. Eragon paused when the farmhouse was out of sight.

"What I am about to reveal to you was considered one of the highest secrets of the New Order," Eragon explained. "I am trusting you as my father and as a fellow Rider not abuse it for your own ends. With any luck, I'll be able to manage the spell even as I am, and my training can begin in earnest."

Brom arched a brow. "I am intrigued. What is this magic that is so powerful you would keep it secret?"

Eragon breathed in deep. Then, in the Ancient Language, stated " _Allow me to draw energy from the sunlight around me._ "

Eragon felt his magical 'muscles' flex and strain with the effort of the relatively simple enchantment. But that was okay, for he suddenly had access to a seemingly unlimited amount of energy. Reaching out with his mind, he _felt_ the beams and rays of the afternoon sunlight falling through the trees, the power contained in the gentle light and heat. As he could from trees and animals and other living things, Eragon drew that energy into himself. He began to glow just slightly, as light bent towards him, but otherwise there was no outward sign of the magical act once thought to be impossible.

Brom gaped. "How? The greatest spellcasters of the elves and Riders tried and failed for centuries!"

"The failure stemmed from a lack of understanding of what sunlight actually is. As it turns out, it is comprised of minute particles, smaller even than dust, known as 'photons'. It is these photons that carry the energy of the sun and pass it along to every surface of the world. Once that facet was truly understood by a spellcaster, they could encapsulate the concept with magic and act on it."

Brom nodded along. "I see. Incredible. So, what is the extent of the energy you can use?"

Eragon grinned. "I could fill Aren in a month holding this spell."

Brom looked to his ring, the treasure trove of energy reserves he had painstakingly created over the decades, with pure awe. The sapphire held a tremendous amount of power, which made the scale of Eragon's statement all the more impressive. "I see why you hid this. I shudder to think what Galbatorix would do with this knowledge."

Eragon nodded, grimacing. "Yes. And the spell is… delicate. If it isn't properly maintained, I could burn myself to a cinder with the concentrated power I'm absorbing."

Brom's head snapped up. "And you attempted such a thing when you're barely better than an adept on their first day at the moment? What were you thinking?"

Eragon shrugged. "No risk, no reward."

Brom sighed. "Just what I deserve, a son as reckless as I was."

Eragon grinned. "The point is, now I have strength to hasten my training."

"How so, precisely? You still haven't explained that."

Eragon turned to a nearby tree. With an unsteady tenor he wasn't used to, he sung two branches out of the wood. Taking them, he tossed one to Brom. "Now, we spar. And I'll sing while I'm doing it."

Comprehension lit up Brom's eyes. "I see." He swung the stick side to side, testing its weight. "I'll go easy on you, considering you'll be using up a lot of your breath. And it's only your first day."

Eragon nodded, his mind far away. Then, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

He sang of strength and vitality and agility. He sang to his muscles to become strong and supple, to his sinews to become corded and flexible, to his bones to withstand harm, to his blood to carry oxygen better, to his heart and lungs to process it better. As he began to move through slow, measured stances and combos against a blocking Brom, he sang of the beauty of swordplay, to his arms and legs to remember the movements and repeat them smoother, surer, more swiftly. He sang to his nerves to heighten his reflexes, to his very being to translate what he held sure in his mind to his unsure body. All the while, he also balanced the enchantment in his head that made all this possible, that provided a steady flow of energy for him to feed into the song he wove.

Hours passed, with Eragon going into a trance state, repeating his song over and over to new melodies, imbuing his will, his magic, into every cell of his body, shaping it to his desires. He wasn't aiming to mutate himself as some of the more aesthetic elves did. Eragon merely tried to convince his body to speed up what was naturally occuring, forcing days' worth of progress and growing into hours. When the sun began to hang low and the shadows were long and dark, Eragon held up his hand. With a muttered " _Stop_ ," he ended the first spell, and all but collapsed from exhaustion.

"Eragon!" Brom yelled, rushing over to cradle him. "What's wrong? Fool boy, why did you push yourself this hard?"

"It's the nature of the spell," Eragon explained, his words slurring alarmingly. "It fills you up with power, makes you feel invincible, when all the while it quietly takes its toll. When it ends, it catches up with you all at once. Don't worry, no one's died from it."

"Can I assume that all those who used it were Riders well-trained in gramarye, with bodies accustomed to the strain, not teenagers dabbling with magic they have no right knowing so early into their training?"

Eragon blinked. "Oops."

Saphira, whom had been watching all this from a branch on a tree, glided down. She nosed her way in between the two, poking Eragon in the chest with her sharp head. She whined in distress, her young eyes filled with concern as she broadcasted worry over the mind link.

"Hush, little one," Eragon crooned. Then he shook his head. "Oh, gods above, I'm acting like you will one day."

Brom sighed. "Come on. Let's get you two back to the house before you keel over. She should be hungry soon, anyway."

They stumbled back to the farm, Roran fretting over Eragon's condition almost as much as Brom while Garrow watched with silent disapproval. They enjoyed a simple meal, all of them taking enjoyment from watching Saphira gorge herself on a handful of jerky. That done, Eragon retreated to his room, where Brom laid out a sleeping pad and settled himself in.

"I'll have to get used to not bathing regularly," Eragon muttered, pinching his sweaty shirt where it hung close to his form.

Brom sent a mental reprimand. _No comments like that, not outside the safety of your own head. We cannot take any chances._

 _Sorry_.

The ache and toil from the longest day he could remember finally caught up with him. Eragon was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

* * *

The days fell into a punishing but rewarding rhythm. As Eragon recalled, the Ra'zac had appeared roughly six weeks after Saphira hatched. So Eragon had a month and a half to hammer his body into something capable of killing two creatures evolved to kill humans and their parents that were as good as dragons in terms of sheer deadliness. In a best case scenario, Eragon would remove all wards with the Word and down them with one of the effortless words of killing. But if the Ra'zac proved elusive to his magic, then he would have to fight them the old-fashioned way, while Saphira dealt with the Lethrblaka, with Brom providing assistance.

Eragon had misgivings at first about artificially speeding up Saphira's growth. But as soon as she had enough of a language base to understand what he was offering, she leapt at the chance. All dragons had an innate desire to be the biggest, the strongest, the mightiest. Saphira was all for her Rider using his magic to make her large and massive, much as Murtaugh (really Galbatorix) had done to Thorn.

Eragon and Saphira woke with the dawn, hunting for their own breakfast to strengthen their bond as Eragon tracked them and Saphira downed the poor prey. Then Eragon would spend hours singing, encouraging their mutual growth with the force of his magic and the unending source of energy that was the streaming sunlight. Eragon would spar with Brom, perform the Rimgar, engage in calisthenics to target specific muscle groups, and practice magic and spells when he was taking breaks from his aria.

While Eragon could pull energy from moonlight, it was much less potent than direct sunlight. Therefore, training ended promptly at sundown, at least the physical contingent. The evenings were meant for conversation with Saphira and Brom. He filled them both in on the wonders of the world, the secrets of how things functioned, of the miracles of science that would one day be discovered and the principles behind them.

In the space of a month, both Eragon and Saphira transformed beyond recognition. She went from the size of a small cat to thrice the length and breadth of a large horse, having aged three or four months in the time of one. Eragon, meanwhile, had gone from a wiry farmhand to the unmistakable build of a soldier. His shoulders were broad for his frame, leading down to corded arms. His pectorals jutted out above his carved abdomen, and his legs were strong and steady as a horse's. While shorter and thinner than Roran, there was no doubt looking between them who would win in a fight. His grasp of magic had improved greatly as well. While not up to the levels he had enjoyed in a body that had soaked in magic for a millenium, Eragon considered himself a competent spellcaster by his own exacting standards. He was easily better than the whole of Du Vrangr Gata, and that was after only a month.

Roran marveled at the accelerated progress of his cousin's training, while Garrow kept to himself, but superstitious fear was obvious in his features. Brom explained the concept of spell-song as far as they were willing to listen and could understand, which proved quite far in Roran's case and extremely limited in Garrow's. Roran once asked jokingly if it could make him more handsome than he already was, and Garrow had nearly howled himself hoarse that 'his son' would remain pure of magic. The tension had lingered in the household ever since, it becoming more and more clear that Garrow was very close-minded and didn't like anything he couldn't understand, such as magic and dragons.

Roran left one evening to have a chisel repaired by Horst, and came back with a conflicted expression.

Eragon, sensing a disturbance in his cousin's mind, walked out to greet him. "What troubles you?"

Roran narrowed his eyes. "Hey. No reading my mind."

"Sorry, it's hard not to walk into a house with an open door and a welcome mat set out," Eragon teased.

"I've tried those exercises, but I can't do two things at once the way you can."

Eragon grinned, before his face turned somber. "Is this about Dempton?"

Roran flinched. "Yes, if you must know."

"You want to leave, earn money to marry Katrina," Eragon stated more than asked.

Roran sighed. "Part of me does, yes."

Eragon cocked his head, confused. The Roran he remembered had been set on going, making something of himself, earning a wage that would make him respectable in the eyes of Sloan. "And the rest?"

Roran gestured at Saphira, flying high enough in the sky to resemble a bird. "The rest wants to go with you! A war is about to start, one that just might end a century of oppression. And it's one you've decided to put yourself on the front lines on. Part of me wants to beg Brom to let me into the Varden so I can help you win!"

Eragon was taken aback. "You… you would do that for me? What about Katrina?"

Roran got a tortured expression. "That's the part that wants to stay, live a quiet life and let the war happen in the far distance."

Eragon considered what to say. He couldn't reveal his knowledge of the future, of the doom of Carvahall. But maybe he could use hypotheticals backed by logic. "You… might not be able to live a quiet life even if you stay."

"What do you mean, Eragon?" Roran looked unflinching into Eragon's eyes. For all his unnatural changes in the last moon turn, Roran still saw nothing but his cousin.

"If and when Galbatorix learns of my existence," Eragon began, "he'll probably reason out where I come from. He could send forces to take you, Garrow, maybe all of Carvahall hostage to use as leverage against me."

Roran gaped in horror. "That's… that's despicable."

"And exactly something he would do, as far as Brom is concerned," Eragon said, taking advantage of speaking Common to engage in minor falsehood. "He's thinking of warning you two to flee, but he knows Garrow will never leave."

Roran grit his teeth. "So, what can I do?"

Eragon took a gamble. "Stay in Carvahall. Work with Horst, volunteer around town, do anything to get stronger. When soldiers start to arrive, come forward with the truth about me. Convince as many as you can to flee west to Narda, take a boat south to Surda or at least Teirm. There's a contact in Teirm, look for Jeod. If you make it to Surda, just say you want to join the Varden and you should be led to where you need to be." Eragon took a deep breath. "There's a storm coming for Carvahall, once the king learns of who I am. You may come to regret knowing me."

Roran surprised Eragon by pulling him into a hug. "Whatever befalls me, Eragon, I will never regret having you for family."

Eragon returned the hug. There was a heavy thump as something massive hit the ground and then the two found themselves encased in a curtain of sapphire-bright scales.

 _This is what you call a 'group hug', yes?_ Saphira asked.

Roran and I chuckled. "Yes, Saphira."

* * *

 **Next, we have the confrontation with the Ra'zac and the start of the journey out of Palancar Valley. Please wait patiently.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I get most of my work done on the weekends. Here's another chapter just for you!**

* * *

The morning dawned bright and clear. Eragon awoke, the light hitting his eyes and drawing out of the grip of his dreams. He'd yet to fully adjust to human sleep entirely, which made each awakening an uneasy affair. The first thing he did on coming fully to consciousness was reach out to Saphira. She was slumbering outside, side pressed up against the wall of the house that Eragon was closest to. His mental touch roused her, and she blinked open ice-blue eyes.

 _Good morning, my heart_ , Eragon sent. He took care to always have the bond half-open, so they could get used to living in each other's skin and minds. He was quite used to it already from centuries of experience, and Saphira had never known anything else but Eragon constantly at her side in both body and mind. They did not have the concerns for privacy and selfish need for independence rather than interdependence he and the 'other' Saphira had at first.

 _Morning, wise hatchling_ , Saphira sent back. And, because she knew every thought in his head, and he knew hers, she did not hide what came next. _I confess, I am jealous… and uneasy. I will never be_ your _Saphira._

Eragon frowned, sitting up. _Never doubt, Saphira, that we belong to each other. Think of it as if I knew your 'mother'. You are much like the Saphira I left behind with my foolish dive through time, but I recognize and respect that you are not her. I wouldn't have it any other way. You have the right to be your own person. All the same, we are Dragon and Rider._

Saphira snorted, sending a cloud of smoke up into the wintry air. _Have you any idea what it's like, to look into your mind and see a thousand years of memories I do not share looking back?_

 _Yes, because you let me know_ , Eragon sent soothingly. _I am sorry that this troubles you. I would not give up those memories for anything, but know that I look forward to making our own. Will that be enough for you, my dearest friend?_

Saphira hummed. _I wonder if this is why they never gave Riders second dragons, the rifts it causes in the bond._ Saphira stood up, stretching out her wings into the sky. _Forget my whining, Eragon. I would not trade you for anyone, complicated past and all._

Eragon felt his heart warm. _I love you too, Saphira_.

They luxuriated in the link, sending their honest emotions to each other and savoring the echoes they felt as they looked from both sides of the exchange. They were truly more one being with two bodies than separate entities, as it should be. Their most powerful weapon was their bond, the symbiosis of two beings on the deepest level. If only all the world could share in such unity.

Eragon stood and got dressed, giving a light kick to Brom's side. "Get up, old man."

Brom frowned. "Who are you calling old?"

"Ah, but I'm not even sixteen, remember?"

Brom muttered to himself as he stood up. When he was upright, he fixed Eragon with serious eyes. "Are you ready?"

Eragon sighed. It had been ten days since Roran had returned from his trip to Carvahall. The Ra'zac were close. "To leave any illusion of safety behind? To embark on a quest that will end with glorious triumph or utter ruin? To put my life at risk and those I care about for the sake of a greater cause?" Eragon gave a sardonic grin. "I wasn't ready then, and I'm not sure I'm ready now. But I must be."

"A good answer," Brom said, stroking his beard. "If you'd leapt into this with both feet forward, I'd wonder if your memories and wisdom were being lost to your younger brain."

"Fortunately, I seem to be the same Eragon I've always been," he said.

Saphira gave a huff. _As if that is any better_ , she projected to both of them.

Eragon chuckled. "How well she knows me." Putting humor aside, Eragon turned to his washbasin. Holding his right palm over the water, he focused, reached for the magic, and intoned " _Dream stare_ ," in the Ancient Language.

The water went flat as it something were being pressed against it. The transparent liquid turned cloudy, before resolving into the monstrous forms to two Lethrblaka, like giant, skinless bats. Astride them were two cloaked figures, all in black, with strange humps on their backs. They appeared to be high in the clouds.

Eragon frowned. " _Look from above and draw back in focus,_ " he stated, altering the scrying spell.

The perspective shifted to that of a bird looking straight down, and the Ra'zac and their parents dwindled to a small size as Eragon saw more and more of the surrounding area. They were lucky in that, so far as scrying went, Eragon's magic seemed to recognize his memories of the future. Rather than a blank white expanse, Eragon felt like he was looking down on a living map of Alagaësia. There were strips and patches of white, where there was land Eragon had not seen. But he'd managed to cover a great deal of the land in his travels before exiling himself from the continent. Eragon surveyed the land he could see and calculated as it slowly moved northward, his spell remaining fixed on the Ra'zac.

"Still flying," Eragon told Brom. "But at their pace, they'll be in Palancar Valley before nightfall."

Brom nodded. "Then we must leave soon." Brom's brows arched. "Something has been troubling me; why did the Ra'zac not leave on the Lethrblaka the first time? Why get horses and then wait until in the middle of the plains?"

"I've wondered that myself," Eragon answered. "The only explanation that makes sense is that just as they do not have magic, they cannot reach out with their minds. When they came searching for you, the Ra'zac must have agreed to rendezvous with their parents at that spot. What the Lethrblaka were off doing, I shudder to think. They might have been mating and laying eggs on Galbatorix's orders. A number of Ra'zac came from the Spine, during the War of Bats."

Brom grimaced. "He truly is mad, to have them propagate like that. The Ra'zac are parasites, a bane on life itself."

Eragon sighed. "I don't cherish the thought of any murder. But I must confess that ending the Ra'zac will trouble me very little."

They joined Garrow and Roran for breakfast, Saphira off to fetch her own meal.

"This is a surprise. Shouldn't you be off bonding with your beast?" Garrow asked, with the slightest edge to his tone."

Eragon finished his bite and sighed. "I'm leaving today."

Roran looked up. "What? Why today?"

Brom spoke up. "Agents of the Empire have intercepted runners from the Varden sent to alert me to the plight of the egg. They draw nearer every day. Eragon and I intend to set a trap for them, but we must leave now if we are to succeed."

Garrow frowned. "And how did you find this out? More of your 'magic'?"

Brom was not the only one to sigh, though Eragon and Roran tried to hide it. "Yes, Garrow."

Garrow pushed back his chair and stood. "I wish you luck, Eragon, whatever good it will do as you go off on this mad adventure of yours." With that, he turned and went to his room.

Eragon could not deny the hurt in his soul. No blessing, no words of wisdom he'd bestowed on him and Roran with pride in his eyes. Just a gruff dismissal and rushing to get him out of his sight.

"This has all been… hard on him," Roran said hesitantly.

Eragon shook his head. "Peace, Roran. He's made his feelings clear. I can only make my peace with them."

Roran sighed. "I hate this. It's like you've become an old man overnight. You sound so… tired, sometimes."

Eragon strove to give no outward reaction. "I feel tired. I'm training every day, after all."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Eragon brought himself to look his cousin in the eye. "There's so much to _do_ ," he said in a whisper, allowing himself to be vulnerable with his family, for if he couldn't be with them, than who? "I'm not sure I can do it."

Brom reached out a hand to lay it on Eragon's shoulder. "Then let us help you."

Roran reached out his own hand, while Saphira crooned from a distance and wrapped his mind in her presence like a hug.

Eragon drew strength from the moment, and then it passed. He nodded, touching his hand to Brom's and Roran's. Then he stood up. "Come. I want one last look at the place, then we'll leave."

Eragon stepped outside, looking at the farm of his childhood. He'd left it all behind ages ago, but had come to grow familiar with it anew during his stay. It would weigh heavy on him, leaving it again. He took a moment to imprint the image into his mind. Then he gave Roran one last hug, some words for him to pass to Garrow, and turned. Eragon did not look back as he and Brom made for Carvahall, Saphira flying high in the sky over them.

"Remember the plan?" Brom prompted.

Eragon sighed. "We gather supplies, telling a tale of you taking me as apprentice and going on a tour of the Empire. We make our way out of town, then double back to intercept the Ra'zac. We kill them, hopefully, and then it's onward to Teirm and Dorú Araeba."

Brom nodded. "We'll have to fetch you a cloak from my house first. People will be likely to comment on your figure if they see you."

Eragon looked down at his newly muscled frame, which filled his old boyhood clothes to the point of ripping, even after being magically expanded as far as they could.

"I might have overdone it," Eragon commented wryly.

"When it comes to preparing for a duel with Ra'zac, there's no such thing as too much preparation. I'm just thankful you kept speed in mind and didn't transform into some hulking brute."

"I've trained hundreds of students of varying body types. I went for a blend of what worked best for them all. Dexterity, strength, endurance. Not a master of one, but a jack of all three." Eragon rolled his shoulders. "We shall see how well it works."

They made it to Carvahall, approaching from the side to stop by Brom's house. While he'd essentially been living out of a pack for a month already, Brom gathered a few last supplies. He paused when he came upon a red scabbard with a black figure of the Poetic Script embossed on it.

"Once, I thought this blade would always serve beside me. And I ended up killing its master and taking it for my own ends," Brom reflected sadly. "Here, you take it. A Rider should bear a Rider's blade."

Eragon looked on the blade named Misery, a hint of revulsion welling up inside him. This blade, however sharp and well-balanced and eternal, had slain dozens of Riders and their dragons. "I take this with a vow: to return it to Murtaugh when we find him. If he decides to throw it away, that's his choice. But by right, it's his."

Brom all but grimaced but acquiesced. And so Eragon belted on Zar'roc.

Wrapping a cloak around him and pulling up the cowl, Eragon guarded against recognition as well as he could. He stood outside the shops as Brom bought enough meat, bread, and other supplies to last them a month or more. Eragon's sharp ears picked up inquiries, and Brom repeated the same story over and over. "Feel like taking a tour of the Empire, finding what new stories there are. The Traders won't keep showing me up. Eragon is coming along. He and Garrow had a falling out and he wants to see the world. Yes, yes, just like his mother. Well, we'll be off. Be back in a year or two, gods willing."

When they were on the way out of town, Eragon heard from Saphira. _What is the point of this play, when you intend to kill the Ra'zac before they hear it and have Roran reveal you are a writer later? Why not just have me reveal myself?_

Eragon answered _Sloan would sell us to the Empire in a heartbeat, and a few other citizens might out of fear or superstition, like Garrow. This is to make sure there isn't a panic, that no one takes note of Eragon and old Brom leaving Carvahall, and rumors can't be traced back to here. I'd prefer Galbatorix never even learn my name until we cross blades, but since that is all but impossible, I'd prefer to make it difficult to trace any rumors back here._

 _Very well. Now, I've spotted a clearing to the south, far enough from the town to not be seen but within a day's walk. If you were coming from that direction, it's the most obvious place to land._ Saphira sent the image and location into his head with her thoughts. Eragon had been vaguely aware of her doing it at the time, but appreciated her explaining it.

"Saphira has found where they're likely to disembark," Eragon explained to Brom. "Let's get into the trees and try to make it there. With any luck, we'll arrive before them and can take all four. Even if we're late or they land somewhere different, we should be able to catch up with the Ra'zac and ambush them."

"This isn't my first time hunting, young Rider," Brom said, grinning savagely. "Let's deal Galbatorix a blow he shan't easily recover from."

Eragon was almost lured into protesting he was far from 'young', but he couldn't have it both ways. They went into the forest, so they would not be easily seen by the Lethrblaka from the sky. Saphira steered well clear, hiding in the mountains to the North but close enough to fly over in a pinch. She'd taken great pleasure in practicing sprints over the last month just for this occasion. Hopefully, there'd be no need for her to engage at all, but if there was, it was best that she be near.

Still, Eragon couldn't suppress a small fear that she would find herself in aerial combat, untested and outnumbered against the vile and cunning Lethrblaka.

Eragon and Brom trekked through the snow, Eragon using his new strength to break drifts for his elderly companion to walk in. They made it to the clearing Saphira had spied when the sun was a quarter away from setting. Taking up position, they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

 _Are you sure this is the right place?_ Brom asked after a couple hours.

 _Saphira judged it would be the best place. Give it another hour before I attempt to scry them,_ Eragon responded.

The time passed slowly, every second tense as they awaited the arrival of the predators they hoped to turn prey.

Eragon was just about to cast on the snow when Saphira alerted him. She spied two figures two large to be birds from such a distance angling up over a peak and making their way down toward the clearing they were in.

 _Get ready!_

 _You're the one doing all the hard work,_ Brom replied, though he reached for his sword in any case.

The Lethrblaka landed heavily, their massive wings back-flapping to reduce momentum, each impact with the air like the crack of a heavy whip. The two Ra'zac on their backs leapt off, coming to land on the ground in crouches even as the Lethrblaka touched down on the earth. The two hooded figures scuttled across the ground, coming to face their respective mount. They leaned in closely to the deformed heads of their parents, appearing almost as if they were kissing them goodbye. It was an oddly familial image, ruined by the ugliness and sheer evil of those involved.

Speaking as lowly as he could, Eragon invoked the Word. " _Remove all wards from those in my sight,_ " he commanded. Feeling the effort of the spell go through him, he could tell it was successful. He almost imagined he could feel the strings of magic linking them back to Galbatorix snipping beneath the blade of his magic. The Ra'zac and Lethrblaka seemed not to notice anything, though one cocked its head in Eragon's direction.

Trying to keep still and calm, Eragon uttered a single word more. "Freohr." _Death_.

The four figures, two humanoid and two avian-like, collapsed to the ground, as if they were puppets and the strings had been cut.

Eragon paused, waiting.

When a minute past and there was no movement, he turned to Brom … _No way it was that easy._

 _No reason it couldn't be. Still, best to check._

Moving slowly, awaiting a possible ruse to end, Eragon and Brom walked into the clearing. When he was close enough to almost prod one with Zar'roc, Eragon held up his palm. "Jierda," he commanded. With audible snaps, their necks broke from within their bodies. Eragon felt the effort of the spell hit him, as his magic reached through flesh to the bone across the intervening distance. The four corpses did not react except for the heads to loll.

Still paranoid, Eragon drew Zar'roc. Moving fast as he could, he went to decapitate the two Ra'zac, cutting their heads from their bodies like splitting a cord of wood. That done, he stabbed both Lethrblaka through their foreheads, his arm lancing the blade through bone into the brain.

Still nothing happened.

 _You could set them on fire, if you really want to be sure,_ Saphira jibed, already flying over. _But I for one believe the egg-breakers are dead._

Eragon laughed. Well, more he gave a burst of sound that resembled laughter. "All that effort tracking them down, all the times they slipped from my grasp… And this time I killed them all before they knew I was even here."

"The benefits of knowing where your enemy will be before they do," Brom said. Like Saphira, he seemed quite amused by how… thorough Eragon had been. "Even Galbatorix would have fallen to a trap of this quality. Keep in mind, the ability to remove wards without effort is unique to you. Without overcoming the mad king's magic, we'd have had to beat them the old-fashioned way, and that would certainly have proved perilous. Instead, you got them with a word of killing." Brom gave a kick to one Lethrblaka's side. "Quite terrifying, what a trained Rider can do, isn't it?"

Eragon nodded, wiping the blood from Zar'roc on the robes of one of the Ra'zac. "A power we must only use to protect and defend."

Saphira landed in the clearing then, having to come in from an angle not to hit any of the bodies. She shook her head and huffed. _They smell foul, like they've already been dead for weeks._

Eragon nodded, becoming aware of the odor rising from the cooling bodies. "Well, that's that done. We should leave now." Eragon walked over to Saphira, leaping into a saddle he had fashioned for her from the leather of their kills. It had sentimental value, as well as being the finest quality considering the state of the base materials, improved and shaped with Eragon's own magic. "Saphira and I will fly, I need to relax. We'll meet up with you at dusk."

Brom nodded, an understanding smile on his face. "Go, be with her. Enjoy the privilege of being masters of the air."

Eragon and Saphira took off, minds melding into one as they soared through the sky, relishing in the freedom of movement, the pleasant ache in her wings, the thrill of the speed. They kept to heights where their breath came out frosty, engaging in aerial acrobatics that would dazzle any onlooker. They swooped and soared, engaging in the most fun form of exercise for a dragon, and perhaps for any creature.

When the sun had set below the horizon and the stars were bright and clear in the sky, they returned to Brom, Eragon finding his mind with a tendril of thought. He was always aware of his surroundings, and had taught Saphira to do the same. She'd experienced the same disquiet he'd once had, of being adrift in an endless void, but she persisted under his tutelage, until she could sense the life for a mile in any direction at all times.

They made camp around a fire, enjoying their meal with a feeling of celebration. The Ra'zac, some of the most terrifying tools in Galbatorix's arsenal, were dead, rotting away in the Spine. And with any luck, Galbatorix might assume it was due to the unnatural bad luck associated with the mountain than Brom or some unknown Rider downing them. Eragon almost worried that he would work out what happened from feeling his wards disappear, but that could as easily be explained by a swift death. Eragon had to remind himself that, at this time, Galbatorix did not yet know the Word. He might suspect, but then the mad suspect all things.

They ended the night with a spar, which was more to keep Eragon in practice and try and improve Brom's stamina than to teach him anything. Eragon had centuries of experience in swordplay, and his body was finally at a point where that translated well into his movements. He still lacked the grace and sheer speed of an elf, but that would come in time as Saphira's wild magic seeped into his body, perhaps sooner if the Eldunari deemed it necessary to remake him.

* * *

The next day, they walked swiftly so they could make it to Therinsford before the day was out. Eragon was grateful the two towns were so close together, though not close enough to come to Carvahall's aid in its darkest hour, from what he remembered. Whether they hadn't known or cared he did not know, and perhaps it was best not to.

They made it to the bridge that spanned the Anora River, separating the town from the path to Carvahall. As they approached, a greasy man stepped out of a bush. His too-small shirt hung over his belly, which jutted out over a rope belt. "You c'n stop right there. This's my bridge. Gotta pay t' get over."

Without preamble, Eragon stepped forward and punched the man in the face. His eyes crossed over his broken nose, before he collapsed to the ground.

"Wanted to do that the first time," Eragon explained to a disapproving Brom.

"There was no need for that," Brom protested. He waited a beat. "We could have just pickpocketed him."

"If we'd done that, he would have charged extra for the next few people to recover his losses. This way, he might be wary of accosting strangers again."

"Well, since you're determined to change how this might have once gone, would you care to tell me where we'll get our horses?" Brom asked.

 _Why do you need another mount? Am I not good enough for you?_ Saphira asked in a tetchy tone.

Eragon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _No mount could ever surpass you in my eyes. But, a horse is less conspicuous. I regret the need for you to hide like a criminal, but it's necessary to our continued safety._

 _Very well,_ she grumbled, flicking her tail mid-flight regardless of the way it altered her flight path.

With a muttered " _Memory_ ," Eragon pointed to a barn on the edge of town. "There, we'll find Cadoc and Snowfire. Two hundred crowns for them plus tack, and you'll have to argue with the stablemaster to get him to give up his finest steed."

"If you say so," Brom said. "And remember, no comments like that!"

Eragon shrugged. _There was no one nearby._

 _Still, it's a bad habit!_

They walked to the barn, its double-doors wide open. Two stalls contained a variety of horses, the back wall filled with harnesses and saddles and other equestrian equipment. At the end of one row, a man with large arms brushed a white stallion. Eragon felt a surge of nostalgia at seeing Snowfire again.

"That's a beautiful animal," Brom spoke up.

"Yes indeed. His name's Snowfire. Mine's Haberth." He shook their hands vigorously with a palm rough with callouses. He waited a beat for them to give their own names, and then continued speaking when they remained silent. "Can I help you?"

"We need two horses and a full set of tack for both. The horses need to be fast and tough; we'll be doing a lot of traveling."

Eragon watched the exchange silently, Haberth eventually assembling two piles of supplies and went to lead two horses over. Eragon recognized the bay as Cadoc, the first animal that had really been his. Saphira didn't count, she was a person in her own right. Wordlessly, Eragon reached out with his mind, speaking words of comfort and friendship in the Ancient Language. The bay walked right up to Eragon, sniffing his hand and regarding him with liquid brown eyes.

Haberth raised a brow. "That's odd. He's normally quite spirited. He must like you."

Brom eyed the roan before looking over to the prize stallion. "How much for Snowfire instead of this one?"

Haberth looked at the horse in question as he would a son. "I'd rather not sell him. He's the finest I've ever bred - I'm hoping to sire a whole line from him."

"If you were willing to part with him, how much would all of this cost me?" Brom asked.

Haberth counted out the purchase on his fingers. "Two hundred crowns and no less." His face fell when Brom wordlessly reached into his pouch and counted out the coins. He sighed when Brom offered out a hand filled with gold. "Very well, he is yours, though I go against my heart."

"I will treat him as if he were sired by Gildintor, the finest steed of legend," Brom assured.

"Your words gladden me." Haberth helped them to saddle the horses, wished them luck on their journey, and turned back to deal with his remaining stock.

Eragon and Brom rode out of Therinsford, riding the horses at a trot as the animals acclimatized to their respective rider. Before long the countryside began to change as cultivated fields yielded to wilder land. Brambles and tangled weeds lined the road, along with huge rose bushes that clung to their clothes. Tall rocks slanted out of the ground—gray witnesses to their presence. There was an unfriendly feel in the air, an animosity that resisted intruders.

Above them, growing larger with every step, loomed Utgard, its craggy precipices deeply furrowed with snowy canyons. The black rock of the mountain absorbed light like a sponge and dimmed the surrounding area. Between Utgard and the line of mountains that formed the east side of Palancar Valley was a deep cleft. It was the only practical way out of the valley. The road led toward it.

Eragon regarded the mountain Utgard silently. Keeping in mind his earlier blunder, Eragon reached out to Brom's mind. _In my time, Edoc'sil was restored to all its glory and more. A great memorial was made for Vrael, and the tower was expanded to house over a hundred dragons. Palancar Valley never had reason to fear with the New Order watching from this peak._

Brom managed a sad smile. _Alas, at the moment it is still Ristvak'baen, the place where the old order suffered a fatal blow._

They followed the Anora River, making it up and over the rise that marked the entrance and exit to Palancar Valley. Eragon looked on the expanse of the great plain. He had both fond and terrible memories of this stretch of land. He only hoped that this time, the trip wouldn't be so fraught with danger.

"We camp here; the descent will take most of the day tomorrow," Brom said.

Eragon took advantage of the last few minutes of sunlight to sing to himself and Saphira, gifting them with more growth and progress than should be natural through the power of his voice in the truest tongue. That done, he and Brom sparred again, blocking the edges of Zar'roc and Brom's own sword with the simple dulling spell.

"You should name him again," Brom suggested, out of breath, looking to the bay horse that nuzzled at Eragon's hair.

Eragon paused, turning to the steed he knew as Cadoc. He laid the palm with the gedwëy ignasia on the horse's brow. "In another life, I named you Cadoc, after my mother's father. Now, I name you Holcomb, for my father's father. And you will become a steed of legend before we part our ways," Eragon vowed.

Brom turned away, but Eragon managed to see a tear. Saphira simply snorted. _Do what you will with the horse. It will never be able to fly._

 _I know, Saphira._

* * *

 **Still debating what to do with the next chapter. You'll know when I know. Hope no one was trampled in a Black Friday mob.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Had a lot of free time today, so here's what I made. Hope it's satisfying.**

* * *

Eragon awoke, feeling refreshed even after sleeping on the ground. He reached up, poking the underside of Saphira's wing. She retracted it, letting him feel the bracing cold of the winter morning. Eragon stood and turned east, where Aiedail was just beginning to shine over the horizon.

Casting the spell to draw energy from the life-giving light, Eragon went through the four phases of the Rimgar, singing to himself and Saphira all the while, splitting the energy between them to fill them up with power and steadily improve their physical condition. Again, he attempted no more than to speed up what was naturally occuring in any case, Saphira's prodigious growth and Eragon's ascension to something more than mere Man. After an hour and a half of exercise and song, Eragon ended, sweating despite the cold air.

"I suppose there are worse ways to wake up than to your subpar singing voice," Brom spoke up from where he was cooking porridge by the fire. "None immediately spring to mind, but I'm sure they exist."

Eragon blushed. "I can't help it if my voice cracks, and I never claimed to be able to bring people to tears with my singing. At least I'm not out of tune."

"There is that, I suppose," Brom said with a straight face, his eyes glimmering with ill-hidden mirth above his beard.

They ate quietly, enjoying how the warm food filled up their bellies as the horses grazed. Saphira flew off back into the mountains to find suitable prey, returning quickly after downing and devouring a stag.

Eragon paused when he finished his bowl, scraping it clean and putting it back in his pack. "There's something that has been troubling me, a decision I'm not sure how to make."

Brom settled down in his seat on the ground. "Then explain it, and we shall discuss the pros and cons of deciding either way."

Eragon breathed out. "Yazuac," he stated simply.

Brom breathed out slowly. "You wish to save it."

"We're almost a week ahead of schedule, compared to last time. We could arrive in time to fend off the Urgals or convince them to go around."

Brom sighed. "Eragon, I recognize that the lives of those villagers weigh heavy on you. That was your first real taste of death and cruelty. But fending off almost a hundred Urgals isn't just impossible, it's suicide."

"You don't know the Urgralgra like I do," Eragon argued. "Their entire culture is based on a hierarchy of combat. Durza isn't controlling the entire nation with black magic, only the chieftains and lieutenants. If I could make them pause long enough to make an official challenge, I could _order_ the rest of the war party to leave the town alone and move on."

"What makes you think they'd even listen to a human, even if he were speaking their tongue?" Brom could not hide a certain disgust in his voice.

Eragon grit his teeth. "They're more than just wolves or bears that can swing an ax or raise a shield. They're no more different from us than we are from the dwarves or elves. They're _people_ , and I would bet my life that at least one of them would stop and listen if I presented myself the right way."

"And who is to say that the one that heeds you will be in a position to do anything? The Urgals clearly had orders to raze that town. Whether that was the decision of Durza or Galbatorix is unknown to us, but we may simply have to live with it. It is too risky to try and offer an official duel like you propose, and outright slaughtering them all is a task beyond our powers."

Eragon blew out a breath, preparing to play his last card. "But not beyond mine and Saphira's."

Brom stood up. "Have you taken leave of your senses? You can't reveal yourself this early!"

"I can have the townsfolk swear oaths in the Ancient Language not to speak of it or alter their memories with magic," Eragon argued.

"How can you be sure you'll get all of them, or that Galbatorix or one of his pet magicians or even Durza won't come investigating?"

"I can track down every townsperson with my mind, I won't miss any of them. Galbatorix wouldn't leave Ûru'baen over one Urgal contingent going missing, and Durza is busy torturing _her_ in Gil'ead."

Brom wrung his hands, looking like he'd prefer to have Eragon's neck in between them. "This is madness, folly, a mistake of the worst kind! Eragon, a single village is not worth losing you when the entire Empire and the lands beyond are at stake!"

Eragon laid a hand on Saphira's flank. "We can do this. Saphira and I can handle a small Urgal war party. Between my magic, her size, arrows and blade, not to mention blind fear and surprise, we can take them. And the sight of us might be enough to make them stop and let me make the challenge and render it a question of single combat."

Brom shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. I forbid it! We can't take a risk like that."

Eragon came to his own feet. "You are asking me, a Rider, one of the sworn defenders of the people, to stand aside and let a whole town of innocent men, women, and children be put to the sword. You are asking me to ignore every oath I ever took and allow a massacre for the sake of my own safety." Eragon looked Brom dead in the eye. "You are asking me to do something I cannot do."

Brom stared Eragon down, but the younger in body only would not look away. The old storyteller heaved a great sigh. "There's no stopping you, is there?"

"Not unless you plan to bind me in chains and drug me until it has passed."

Brom turned to the dragon. "Saphira, what do you think of all this?"

She gave a feral grin. _It is the right thing to do, old one, and you know it. Besides, I'm eager to have a real fight. Urgals should prove much more fun prey than kine._

Eragon turned to her, patting her snout. "That's my girl," he said with a smile. "But remember, this isn't something we should relish. We're trading lives here, Urgal for Man. It pains me, but to save the most lives, it must be done."

Brom refilled the pot with water. "Why don't we check that all this isn't a moot point?"

Eragon nodded, realizing it was a good point. Casting the scrying spell, Eragon peered into the water. The water filled with color and light, and in an instant Eragon was looking down on a small town. Men and women walked around, children running, all in all seeming happy and unaware of the danger coming for them.

Eragon blinked. "Well, that answers one question. Seeing a person's corpse still allows you to scry them."

Brom nodded, though he looked put out. "There's no talking you out of this now, having seen what you feel you must protect." Brom stood up and made for Snowfire. "Very well, we make for Yazuac. But we at least _attempt_ to avoid a direct confrontation where you are revealed to all and sundry as a Rider. We make for Yazuac with haste, and head off the Urgals before they even arrive. If we can quietly kill them all in their sleep, we should neatly avoid any issues in the first place."

"Very well," Eragon agreed. It _was_ a better plan than Eragon's dramatic charge to save the town. Despite all his years of training and learning and teaching on the art of combat, he still favored a face-to-face fight over assassination or flanking. It was just part of his character, a facet of his True Name he couldn't change even if he wanted to.

Saphira leapt into the sky, not even bothering to hide given the vast openness of the plains, while Brom and Eragon began the laborious task of getting the horses down the ridge. In many places the trail all but disappeared, leaving them to find their own way down. At times they had to dismount and lead the horses on foot, holding on to trees to keep from falling down the slope. The ground was scattered with loose rocks, which made the footing treacherous. The ordeal left them hot and irritable, despite the cold.

They stopped to rest when they reached the bottom near midday. The Anora River veered to their left and flowed northward. A biting wind scoured the land, whipping them unmercifully. The soil was parched, and dirt flew into their eyes.

The path split into three. One path lead to the north, to Ceunon. Another veered right, towards to follow along the length of the Spine towards the lake Fläm. The last headed straight east, across the great plain towards Yazuac.

"Last chance to change your mind," Brom stated, eying the path to the right with something like longing.

Eragon shook his head. "I will do what my duty commands me to do."

"Fine, blast it all. We'll refill our waterskins here at the Anora, and then we ride. It takes four days at a good pace to make it to Yazuac, so we may not even arrive in time."

"If I sing to the horses and draw energy from the sun, we can maintain a gallop all day. If we ride through the night, we could make it by sunrise."

Brom sighed. "So be it. Let us find out how this goes."

They let the horses drink their fill, taking care to do the same. Then they got into the saddles, Saphira gliding high above them. Eragon cast the sunlight spell, and then began funneling energy into the mounts as they kicked them into their fastest run. As they rode, Eragon sang a different song, one of speed and necessity, of aches being ignored and tiredness kept at bay. He begged the horses with words poetic in their beauty and meaning to hasten, hasten, hasten. To run ever faster, to ignore any pain, to be sustained by the limitless power Eragon was gifting to them more than food, water, or their own muscles. As day transitioned into night, they took a brief rest to eat and allow the horses to recover. And then it was back to riding like devils were at their heels, Eragon drawing what energy he could from the moonlight to add to the stores of Holcomb and Snowfire. But they were war-horses, bred for endurance and strength, and aided by Eragon's gramarye ran as if wings were attached to their hooves. Saphira kept pace overhead, on the lookout for any signs of the Urgal party or Yazuac in the distance.

The moon was halfway through the sky when Saphira contacted Eragon. _Little one, I see fires in the distance. They are small and figures surround them, blocking the light. I also smell smoke from chimneys and can make out some buildings at the edge of my vision. The Urgals are camped but a league away from Yazuac._

Eragon nodded and relayed the information to Brom. They shifted course, going off the road and towards the Urgal camp. When the sky was just beginning to brighten with the promise of dawn, they reigned in the horses. Eragon could sense the Urgals now. Most were still asleep, but a few stood guard as watchmen.

"The attack must happen later today," Eragon reasoned. "There's no way the townsfolk wouldn't notice them this close to town, given how flat everything is."

"Then the time to strike is now," Brom whispered back. "Can you make it close enough to use your magic?"

Eragon hesitated. "Are we certain I can't try and challenge the leader? I could disguise myself as an Urgal, pretend to be one of them."

"You think a party this small wouldn't recognize an unfamiliar face? Or that you could maintain an illusion that complex mid-combat?" Brom demanded. "Eragon, it was your decision to come out here and kill the damn things."

Eragon flinched. "My second-in-command was a Kull Rider," Eragon reminded him. "I have great respect for the Urgralgra. And there's no fate worse for a young ram than a quiet death."

"Just as there's no fate worse the people of Yazuac can imagine than being raided by Urgals," Brom fired back.

 _Eragon, Brom is right. It was your decision to come here. Now let us do what must be done._ Saphira was a silent comfort at Eragon's side, even as Holcomb and Snowfire skittered at her nearness.

Eragon sighed and nodded. _I'm afraid I must deny you your fight, Saphira. This will be fast and painless._

 _That's alright. There will be more than enough sport for me when we go off to war. For now, focus on the task at hand._

Eragon reached out with his mind. He delicately investigated each of the 83 Urgralgra rams camped out, and found none of them were magicians or in any way protected by wards. One of them, the largest and most well-decorated, had a touch of evil magic on him that turned Eragon's stomach. He recognized the unholy touch of a Shade's power. Reaching out to touch all their minds, Eragon incanted " _Death_."

In an instant, each slumbering or bored Urgal fell dead, the energy of their own bodies turned against them to snuff out their lives. It was effortless on Eragon's part, as he essentially had them all commit silent suicide in a perverse reversal of the natural order, each of their bodies shutting off all vital functions under their own power.

Where once there was a camp of fighters ready to pillage the unsuspecting town, there was now only a mass grave.

Eragon stood up, his heart heavy, even as the first light of dawn shined down on them. "I'm going to sleep. When I awake, I'm burying them."

Brom looked at Eragon oddly. "That could take days. Can we truly spare the time?"

"I owe it to them," Eragon stated resolutely. Then he pulled out his pallet, laid it near Saphira's belly, and slipped into an uneasy sleep as the effort of the last 24 hours caught up with him.

* * *

Eragon proved true to his word. He rode into the camp, finding each individual Urgal and dressing the body in its finest weapons and armor. Then he would mold the earth underneath them so they would rest forever where they had fallen, and sing a small sapling into existence whose roots would feed on the body hidden underneath. He did this for all 83 Urgals.

"Half the Spine's forests are made of grave-trees or their offspring," Eragon explained on the second day, taking a break from his morbid work. "Urgal cubs climb trees for fun, but never a grave-tree, as that would defile the memory of the dead. Urgal folklore states that the health of the tree depends on how well the fallen is faring in Zhôgh, the land of the dead, where Urgals engage in endless battle and merriment. If a tree dies, then it means the soul is lost forever, having died a second death in the afterlife for some sin. A surprising amount of a clan's social status has to do with the health of their respective grave-trees, so they are well-tended."

"Fascinating," Brom agreed, more to keep Eragon talking than out of any real interest.

Saphira cocked her head. _Someone is coming from the town._

The response was immediate. "Fly, Saphira! Get high enough that they can't see you."

Saphira waited a beat, letting Eragon feel her irritation at being ordered around and resentment of having to conceal herself, but she took off regardless. Eragon finished his final grave, and then turned to face the direction of Yazuac.

A small party of men walked over from the town visible in the distance. Eragon had already burned all the tents and identifying marks that showed the Urgals had ever been there. The saplings were small, barely sprouts as Eragon had wanted to conserve energy and not draw attention. He could only hope none of the investigators had sharp eyes.

"I knew taking the time to bury them was a bad idea," Brom muttered to himself.

"Oh, and I suppose having a camp of unmarked dead Urgals just lying around in the countryside would have been better?" Eragon shot back.

Brom gave a grudging nod. "Alright, fair point. I don't suppose you have a good excuse for why we're out here instead of staying in town?"

"You're senile and demented, and I didn't trust you with so many new people. I was going to wait until you'd fallen asleep and then go into town for provisions before we continued on our way to Gil'ead."

Brom adopted a far-eyed look and absent-minded smile, but his voice was sharp. "You'll pay for this one day, dear son."

The party arrived, and Eragon and Brom played the part of Neal and Evan, a mad old man and his caretaking grandson, off to visit Liam's aunt in the far city of Gil'ead. Eragon got much sympathy from the visitors and understanding about why he preferred to stay out of town when Brom picked up and played with bits of grass and carried out a conversation with Snowfire. All the same, they were invited into the town, to enjoy a meal and bed in the small tavern before leaving on their way.

Eragon and Brom left the next day, having thoroughly enjoyed the hospitality of Yazuac. Eragon felt the stones laden in his heart lighten considerably. He had preserved that happiness, that innocence, that small town with nothing to worry about except a lean winter and the King's taxes. It made the slaughter of the Urgralgra easier to bear.

They followed the trail south, making for Daret. Once they were out of sight of Yazuac and the only things watching them were birds and squirrels, Eragon called for Saphira with his mind. He handed Holcomb's reigns to Brom and climbed into Saphira's saddle.

They spent the day reconnecting after their enforced distance, even if it was only for a single night and day. They were halves of a whole, a love that was deeper and more spiritual than romance. They were as good as twins, bonded together on the most fundamental level, completely different in personality and yet the most absolute kind of family, with bonds that were stronger than if they'd shared the same blood in truth.

As they flew, Eragon sang for them, as had become a daily routine. Luckily, Saphira's hunting skills had been able to keep up with the ravenous appetite Eragon's song provoked in her. As much as the raw magic of sunlight could do, she still needed protein and other nutrients to fuel her body's growth. Eragon suffered a similar hunger at times, but then again he was a teenager; when was he not hungry?

They landed and supped, Brom and Eragon engaging in their nightly talk and spar.

They made good progress, Eragon singing to the horses to improve their stamina even as they kept to a simple cantor rather than the blistering sprint they'd taken for Yazuac. Just as it had with Eragon and Saphira, the magic suffused the horses and enhanced them to a higher quality than more mundane counterparts of their species. The progress was slow, but both Brom and Eragon noted that the horses ran for longer and longer and faster speeds without seeming to tire, and seemed to require less food and water to sustain themselves.

"You might regret investing so much energy in our mounts," Brom spoke up one evening. "People are likely to notice two strangers riding possibly the finest horses to be found outside Du Weldenvarden."

"We already draw attention with our age disparity and how well-armed we are. We can pass it off as being rich, which only makes us more in danger of bandits, which you and I both know are a laughable threat to those of our level."

"Your level," Brom said with a half-smirk. "My prime has long past."

Eragon looked at his father. "If you want… I can try to heal you."

"Eragon, there's no curing old age."

"To the well-informed mind, aging is just another disease. We made great strides in conquering it through medicine and magic in my time. A human that got consistent treatment could live to well over two centuries, last I heard. Sadly, only the rich could really afford it, but the treatment still exists."

Brom blinked in a daze. "Are you saying you can just… make me young with magic?"

"I can do my best."

Brom seemed to contemplate it for a time, before nodding. "Oh, alright. No harm in trying. Though if you tire yourself excessively, I shan't easily forgive you."

Eragon nodded, before reaching for Saphira. _Lend me your strength, my heart._

 _To make the old one a young one? I'd do it just to see what happens!_

Fusing his energy with that of Saphira's and, with permission, taking just the slightest bit from Aren, Eragon focused. He brought to mind all he knew of the human body, organ systems, cellular biology, and the language of life that future Surdans named deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA. Concentrating on all the little wears and tears associated with old age, the scars and injuries that were simply the price of living, Eragon laid his bare palm on Brom's forehead and said simply " _Be healed._ "

Brom gasped, as Eragon's magic flowed through him. Before Eragon's eyes, wrinkles smoothed out, skin tone brightened, liver spots vanished, and Brom's very carriage seemed to straighten as pain ignored so long it was barely noticed vanished. Eragon felt the spell begin to reach the limits of his power, and cut off the flow of magic. He'd meant the spell to be a gradual instead of an absolute, even with the vague sentence structure, so a gradual it was.

Brom appeared to have regained twenty years. His hair was brown instead of silver, and his beard was now salt-and-pepper rather than unbroken white. The former Rider stood up, looking down at his limbs with awe. He made a fist and grinned at the new muscle tone of his arm. "Ha! Haha! Eragon, you did it!"

"I could do more tomorrow, when I have the energy from the sun," the elder in mind offered.

"No, no, this is more than enough. I feel better than I have in decades!" Brom got an almost shy grin. "Now you can introduce me as your father instead of your grandfather."

Eragon grinned back, before grabbing for Zar'roc. "Come on, let's test out your reclaimed youth. You might even be a small challenge for me now."

As it turns out, Brom was an even more fearsome swordsman than Eragon thought, once he wasn't bogged down by senescence.

* * *

Daret was on the banks of the Ninor River—as it had to be to survive. The village was small and wild-looking, without any signs of inhabitants.

 _They're waiting to ambush us. They've grown paranoid after constant harassment by bandits and the occasional Urgal._ Eragon explained mentally.

 _They don't truly want to hurt us. We'll go in, ask for our supplies, pay, and then leave with all our limbs intact._ Brom reassured.

 _If either of you hurt yourselves knowingly walking into this danger, their assault will seem pleasant compared to my wrath,_ Saphira projected to them snidely. She was very much put out that they would wander into a trap like dumb prey. But she couldn't deny that they were running low on provisions, and the great trek to Teirm was upon them. They needed to resupply before crossing the plains AND the Spine, and part of the coast as well.

Eragon and Brom rode into the center of Daret, not seeing a single soul all the way. Eragon felt the families hiding terrified in their houses and the men preparing the ambush, and felt only pity. Galbatorix, though both neglect and deliberately working against his own people, had driven them to this. If people couldn't even walk through their own town without being afraid, what was the point of living?

"I don't like this. Let's go," Brom said to Eragon, turning to go back the way they had come. Eragon nodded and followed.

They advanced only a few strides before wagons toppled out from behind the houses and blocked their way. Holcomb snorted and dug in his hooves, coming to a stop next to Snowfire. A swarthy man hopped over the wagon and planted himself before them, a broadsword slung at his side and a drawn bow in his hands. In a strong voice, he commanded, "Halt! Put your weapons down. You're surrounded by sixty archers. They'll shoot if you move." As if on cue, a row of men stood up on the roofs of the surrounding houses.

Neither Eragon nor Brom reacted openly to the change in circumstance, confident in their safety… especially as Eragon had warded each of them to within an inch of invulnerability. He'd had to give Saphira _something_ to make her let go. "What do you want?" asked Brom calmly.

"Why have you come here?" demanded the man.

"To buy supplies and hear the news. Nothing more. We're on the way to my cousin's house in Dras-Leona."

"You're armed pretty heavily."

"So are you," said Brom. "These are dangerous times."

"True." The man looked at them carefully. "I don't think you mean us ill, but we've had too many encounters with Urgals and bandits for me to trust you only on your word."

"If it doesn't matter what we say, what happens now?" countered Brom. The men on top of the houses had not moved. Some might mistake their stillness for discipline, but Eragon could feel the truth in their thoughts: they were scared for their very lives.

"You say that you only want supplies. Would you agree to stay here while we bring what you need, then pay us and leave immediately?"

"Yes."

"All right," said the man, lowering his bow, though he kept it ready. He waved at one of the archers, who slid to the ground and ran over. "Tell him what you want."

Brom recited a short list and then added, "Also, if you have a spare pair of gloves that would fit my son, I'd like to buy those too." The archer nodded and ran off.

"The name's Trevor," said the man standing in front of them. "Normally I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances, I think I'll keep my distance. Tell me, where are you from?"

"North," said Brom, "but we haven't lived in any place long enough to call it home. Have Urgals forced you to take these measures?"

"Yes," said Trevor, "and worse fiends. Do you have any news from other towns? We receive word from them rarely, but there have been reports that they are also beleaguered."

"We're a week out of Yazuac, who claim to have not seen an Urgal in nearly a year's time," Brom answered. "It seems you lot have been the victim of bad fortune."

Trevor shook his head. "I wonder what god is laughing at us."

The archer hurried out of a house with a pile of goods in his arms. He set them next to the horses, and Brom paid him. As the man left, Brom asked, "Why did they choose you to defend Daret?"

Trevor shrugged. "I was in the king's army for some years."

Brom dug through the items, handed Eragon the pair of gloves, and packed the rest of the supplies into their saddlebags. Eragon pulled the gloves on, being careful to keep his palm facing down, and flexed his hands. The leather felt good and strong, though it was scarred from use.

"Well," said Brom, "as I promised, we will go now."

Trevor nodded. "When you enter Dras-Leona, would you do us this favor? Alert the Empire to our plight and that of the other towns. If word of this hasn't reached the king by now, it's cause for worry. And if it has, but he has chosen to do nothing, that too is cause for worry."

"We will carry your message. May your swords stay sharp," said Brom.

"And yours."

Eragon and Brom rode out of town.

 _See? That went perfectly fine._ Eragon sent to his dragon.

His only response was a mental feeling that he could only describe as an eye-roll.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm just on a roll, I guess. Three for three!**

* * *

The days passed swiftly as they made for Teirm. They cut west back across the plains, and then followed the line of the mountains south. One day, they came to a wide road rutted by wagon wheels. "This is the main road between the capital, Urû'baen, and Teirm," said Brom. "It's widely used and a favorite route for merchants. We have to be more cautious. This isn't the busiest time of year, but a few people are bound to be using the road."

Eragon hid a chuckle. "That's, I believe, word for word what you said the first time around, when I was an ignorant farm boy."

Brom harrumphed. "Excuse me for thinking out loud."

Eragon continued to sing for himself and Saphira in the mornings, and to the horses during the day. At night, he went hunting for his and Brom's meal and ended things with a spar and perhaps a wandering talk on the world and everything in it if they had the energy. Saphira spent her days flying high above them, keeping an eye keen for threats when she wasn't practicing aerial combat maneuvers Eragon described for her. Eragon also worked to teach Saphira the various languages besides Common, so she could commune with the other three races in their native tongue should she wish.

They finally came upon the right mountain pass, with the eastern Toark River flowing out of it. They followed it for three days, coming upon Woadark Lake, the leagues passing away until they had crossed the Spine and made it to the flatlands of the coast. The forest land quickly leveled out and became marshy and swamp-like. Without the mountains to hide behind, Saphira flew close to the ground, using every hollow and dip in the land to conceal herself.

"I don't care for this kind of terrain," Eragon said as Holcomb's hoofs sunk into the muddy road and kicked up grime.

"Be thankful you're so accomplished in magic already. Without your wards to keep us clean, this trek would be thrice as miserable," Brom reflected. "And I must agree. I understand some like how mild it is, but I find all this green and fog dreary."

They camped in the driest spot they could find, further dehydrated by Eragon's magic. Eragon made sure to cuddle with Saphira. _I'll have to ride Holcomb exclusively from now on. People are bound to be on this road, and they'll notice if Brom is alone one day and has a companion the next._

 _So be it. And when we leave here on a boat and set out into the ocean, you shall ride me every day until we make it to Vroengard._ Saphira wasn't haggling, it was a statement of fact. Her way would be had. Eragon was happy to oblige her.

"What are we going to do about the crew of the ship we take?" Eragon asked.

"Ideally, there won't be one. We should be able to find something big enough to support Saphira's weight and still be sailed by just the two of us." Brom lit his pipe. "Should that prove impossible, my hope is either to get agents of the Varden or people Jeod trusts to sail with us. If there are none to be had, well, I hope you're as good with mind magic as you think you are."

Eragon grimaced. "Stealing a man's free will bodes ill with me, but I'll do it if we must. If I thought she were up for it, I'd have us fly there on Saphira."

 _Are you doubting my ability to fly a long distance?_ She asked with faux offrontery.

Eragon laid a hand on her side. _Saphira, it's as far from Teirm to Dorú Areaba as it is to Carvahall. And there would be no land for you to touch down on for a rest, merely the ocean, rough water that ever tries to drag you down into its depths. Even sustained on the sun, it would prove too much for you right now._

 _I suppose that is a_ bit _beyond me. At the moment,_ she reluctantly agreed.

After two days of traveling north toward the ocean, Saphira sighted Teirm. A heavy fog clung to the ground, obscuring Brom's and Eragon's sight until a breeze from the west blew the mist away. Eragon watched as Teirm was suddenly revealed before them, nestled by the edge of the shimmering sea, where proud ships were docked with furled sails. The surf's dull thunder could be heard in the distance.

The city was contained behind a white wall—a hundred feet tall and thirty feet thick—with rows of rectangular arrow slits lining it and a walkway on top for soldiers and watchmen. The wall's smooth surface was broken by two iron portcullises, one facing the western sea, the other opening south to the road. Above the wall—and set against its northeast section—rose a huge citadel built of giant stones and turrets. In the highest tower, a lighthouse lantern gleamed brilliantly. The castle was the only thing visible over the fortifications.

Brom and Eragon rode up to the south gate, where the soldiers were holding their pikes carelessly. "This is our first test. There's no reason they should have reports of us, but you never know. Whatever happens…"

"Don't panic or act suspiciously," Eragon finished. _You've told me before._

 _Well, for me it is the first time!_ Brom shot back, looking a bit put out that he couldn't act the part of older and wiser with Eragon.

At the entrance to Teirm, the guards stood straighter and blocked the gate with their pikes. "Wha's yer name?" asked one of them in a bored tone.

"I'm called Neal," said Brom in a wheezy voice, slouching to one side, an expression of happy idiocy on his face.

"And who's th' other one?" asked the guard.

"Well, I wus gettin' to that. This'ed be m'nephew Evan. He's m'sister's boy, not a . . ."

The guard nodded impatiently. "Yeah, yeah. And yer business here?"

"He's visitin' an old friend," supplied Eragon, dropping his voice into a thick accent. "I'm along t' make sure he don't get lost, if y' get m'meaning. He ain't as young as he used to be—had a bit too much sun when he was young'r. Touch o' the brain fever, y' know." Brom bobbed his head pleasantly.

"Right. Go on through," said the guard, waving his hand and dropping the pike. "Just make sure he doesn't cause any trouble."

"Oh, he won't," promised Eragon. He urged Holcomb forward, and they rode into Teirm. The cobblestone street clacked under the horses' hooves.

Once they were away from the guards, Brom sat up and growled, "Touch of brain fever, eh?"

"Why fix what isn't broken?" Eragon asked rhetorically, smiling at his father's ire.

"Now why don't you make yourself useful and tell me where we're going to find Jeod?" Brom asked as he rode Snowfire along the street.

Eragon had used the memory spell the previous night, so he wouldn't have to stop and use magic in the city. The odds of anyone sensing such a subtle enchantment were slim, but better to be safe than sorry. "On the west side of town, on the right of the herbalist Angela's shop."

"Well, let's get there. I simply can't wait to tell an old friend who believes I'm dead that his business is being sabotaged by some of the most trusted officers in our organization," Brom said, turning Snowfire left at the next intersection. Eragon followed behind on Holcomb. The west side of town was unmistakably where the wealthy of Teirm lived. The houses were clean, ornate, and large. The people in the streets wore expensive finery and walked with authority.

Eragon may not have ever set foot on Alagaësia again, but he'd kept in contact with the current king or queen and the various lords of the land. He was more than used to dealing with nobles and the peculiar self-importance they so often fell victim to. He unconsciously straightened, projecting an equal confidence as those they were passing. Brom, ignorant, continued to move like one attempting not to be seen, unaware or uncaring that such behavior drew more attention from such people.

They came upon the herbalist's shop, which was easy to find and had a cheery sign. A short, curly-haired woman stood in front, holding a frog in one hand and writing on a piece of paper on a small stool with the other. Eragon felt a wave of nostalgia hit him. Angela was half-mad, and he never fully understood her past or how she came across so many magical objects and creatures, but she had been a friend.

"Greetings," Brom called politely.

Angela did not look up. "Hello to you. And hello again to your friend."

Eragon paused. "I'm sorry, have we met?" he asked, feigning ignorance. What was going on?

"Can't say that we have. This is my first time seeing you. Yet I cannot shake the feeling that this isn't the first time we've spoken to each other." Angela looked up from her paper with a perky smile. "Now I wonder how that could be. I'd very much like to have a talk with you, not-stranger. But at the moment, I'm busy with an important project." She regarded the amphibian in her grasp and returned to her paper.

 _What the blazes is going on?_ Brom questioned Eragon.

 _She's the strongest witch in Alagaësia, a werecat follows her everywhere, and she's older than you despite her outward appearance. Nothing would surprise me so long as she were involved someway._ Eragon replied to Brom with his mind, before deciding to take a chance. "I think you'll find that all toads can be considered frogs, but not all frogs are toads."

Angela looked up, blinking bright eyes before smiling wide. "What a remarkable observation! I'll be sure to make note of it. Do stop by before you leave, won't you?"

"I promise," Eragon vowed.

Brom and Eragon walked to the front door of the house on the right, which was far enough away to be out of Angela's hearing. "I can't decide whether she's mad or brilliant," Brom mused aloud.

"She would say that they are one and the same, I think," Eragon offered. "Now, how about a crown that Jeod faints when he sees you looking younger than the last time he saw you?"

Brom huffed. "He's made of sterner stuff than that. You're on."

Jeod's door bore a wrought-iron knocker and had a marble doorstep. Brom banged three times and waited, but there was no response. Eragon could sense the lives of the staff in the house, all of them too far to hear. There was one person in earshot, but she was in the midst of crying.

"Try again. The lady of the house herself will answer. Remember, a friend from Gil'ead."

"Sometimes I wonder which of the two of us exactly is in charge," Brom grumbled. Then he knocked again, pounding loudly.

There was the sound of someone running to the door. A young woman with a pale complexion and light blond hair cracked it open. Her eyes were puffy, a mark that she'd been weeping just a minute before, but her voice was perfectly steady. "Yes, what do you want?"

"Does Jeod live here?" Brom asked kindly.

The woman, Helen, dipped her head a little. "Yes, he is my husband. Is he expecting you?" She opened the door no farther.

"No, and I'm sure he's busy. Could you just do me one favor and pass a message on to him?" Brom determinedly kept a smile on his face.

"I will," Helen consented.

"Tell him a friend from Gil'ead is waiting outside."

She eyed them suspiciously, but she nodded. "Very well." She shut the door in their faces and ran into the depths of the house.

"She suspects that Jeod is involved in something illegal," Eragon commented. "She's very bright; she could run the business better than Jeod if he allowed her to take part and she was willing to step up."

"Yes, yes. Now please, let me do the talking. This should be painful enough as it is," Brom snapped. He tried to hide it, but Eragon saw; he was nervous about seeing his old friend after all this time.

The door suddenly flew open, and a tall man burst out of the house. His expensive clothes were rumpled, his gray hair wispy, and he had a mournful face with short eyebrows. A long scar stretched across his scalp to his temple. When he saw them, his eyes grew wide enough to see the whites from ten paces away. His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish, looking Brom up and down. Incredulous, he asked "Brom?" in a small voice.

Brom put a finger to his lips and reached forward, clasping the man's arm. "It's good to see you, Jeod! I'm glad that memory has not failed you, but don't use that name. It would be unfortunate if anyone knew I was here."

Jeod fell to his rump, looking up at Brom with disbelief clear in his eyes. "I thought you were dead," he said accusingly. "And you show up at my door looking younger than when we parted! What happened, why haven't you contacted me before?"

Eragon reached into his coin purse. "Well, he didn't faint. Here's your crown."

"Not the time," Brom hissed.

Jeod swung his gaze between Eragon and Brom, his head moving back and forth. "Who is this?"

Brom sighed. "All will be explained. Is there a place that we can talk safely?"

Jeod took a moment to calm himself and take back his bearings, returning to his feet. "We can't talk here," he finally said. "Wait a moment, and I'll take you somewhere we can."

"Fine," Brom said, and Jeod vanished back into the house. When he reappeared, there was a rapier at his side. He wore an embroidered jacket that hung loosely on his shoulders, hinting that he'd recently lost weight, and a plumed hat in matching color scheme. Jeod shrugged self-consciously at the critical look Brom gave to the finery.

He took them through Teirm toward the citadel. Eragon led the horses behind the two men. Jeod gestured at their destination. "Risthart, the lord of Teirm, has decreed that all the business owners must have their headquarters in his castle. Even though most of us conduct our business elsewhere, we still have to rent rooms there. It's nonsense, but we abide by it anyway to keep him calm. We'll be free of eavesdroppers in there; the walls are thick."

They went through the fortress's main gate and into the keep. Jeod strode to a side door and pointed to an iron ring. "You can tie the horses there. No one will bother them." When Snowfire and Holcomb were safely tethered, he opened the door with an iron key and let them inside. There was a long, empty hallway past the door, cold and damp from never feeling the touch of the sun. The torches set in either wall revealed a thick slime clinging to the stones of the citadel.

Jeod snatched a torch from its bracket and led them down the hall. They stopped before a heavy, wooden door. He unlocked it and ushered them into a room dominated by a bearskin rug laden with stuffed chairs. Bookshelves stacked with leather-bound tomes covered the walls.

Jeod piled wood in the fireplace, then thrust the torch under it. The fire quickly roared. "You, old man, have some explaining to do."

Before they could say anything more, Eragon turned to the locked door. " _May no one hear us,_ " he cast, setting up a ward that would prevent any sound from leaving the chamber, even to a man with his ear against the keyhole.

Jeod's eyes shot up into his hair. "A lot of explaining."

Brom crinkled. "It seems our roles have reversed. When last we were together, there was no grey in your hair. Now it seems to be in the final stages of decomposition, whereas I have recently come into a sort of late prime."

"Enough of this! Get on with the story. That's always what you were good at," said Jeod impatiently.

Brom relaxed into a chair and pulled out his pipe. He slowly blew a smoke ring that turned green, darted into the fireplace, then flew up the chimney. Eragon rolled his eyes at the subtle working of magic for mere sport. "Let's start at the point where you and I parted. I couldn't find you after my fight with Morzan. In the midst of the turmoil I stumbled into a small room. There wasn't anything extraordinary in it—just crates and boxes—but out of curiosity, I rummaged around anyway. Fortune smiled on me that hour, for I found what we had been searching for."

Jeod's eyes widened, shock crossing over his face. He eyed Eragon with suspicion, his eyes taking in every detail, but Brom kept speaking regardless. "Once the egg was in my hands, I couldn't wait for you. At any second I might have been discovered, and all lost. Disguising myself as best I could, I fled the city and ran to the Varden. They stored it in a vault, for safekeeping, and made me promise to care for whomever received it. Until the day when my skills would be needed, I had to disappear. No one could know that I was alive—not even you—though it grieved me to pain you unnecessarily. So I went north and hid in Carvahall."

Jeod's eyes narrowed. "Then the Varden knew you were alive this entire time?"

"Yes."

"I suppose the ruse was unavoidable, though I wish they had told me. Isn't Carvahall farther north, on the other side of the Spine?"

Brom inclined his head. "Yes, though I must confess there was a reason why I chose it."

"Why is that?"

Brom looked over at Eragon, not disguising the paternal love and pride in his eyes. "It's where my son was."

Jeod gaped. "What? Your son?"

"Eragon Bromson, at your service," Eragon said with an amused grin. "My mother died shortly after I was born, but she managed to conceal her pregnancy from Morzan. No one but Brom knew exactly who I was." Eragon and Brom had discussed how to handle this conversation. They decided it best to give the impression that Brom had been training Eragon since birth, and him becoming Saphira's rider was just a happy coincidence.

Jeod gaped. "Well… congratulations, I suppose. But if you were in hiding in Carvahall all this time, what brought you here?"

"A quest most imperative, which I will discuss later. But I will tell you that Eragon is accompanying me not only as my son, but as my student."

Jeod looked in danger of falling out of his chair. "You mean…"

Eragon wordlessly took off his glove and showed Jeod the gedwëy ignasia. "Her name is Saphira."

Jeod's eyebrows rose, coming down as a broad grin spread his lips. "Then at last it has begun."

"Indeed," Brom agreed. "Now, I believe you have a part of the story to tell. What is it you've been up to all these years?"

Jeod shrugged. "I moved here after our little adventure. I started out as just another agent, keeping my ear to the ground for news and trying to quietly recruit sympathizers to our cause. Then I felt I needed to do more, so I started a shipping company and I've been doing that for almost eight years now."

"I never expected you to become a merchant," said Brom. "After all the time you spent in books. And finding the passageway in that manner! What made you take up trading instead of remaining a scholar?"

"After Gil'ead, I didn't have much taste for sitting in musty rooms and reading scrolls. I decided to help Ajihad as best I could, but I'm no warrior. My father was a merchant as well—you may remember that. He helped me get started. However, the bulk of my business is nothing more than a front to get goods into Surda."

Brom nodded, his face turning solemn. "But things have been going badly."

"Yes, none of the shipments have gotten through lately, and Tronjheim is running low on supplies. Somehow the Empire—at least I think it's them—has discovered those of us who have been helping to support Tronjheim. But I'm still not convinced that it's the Empire. No one sees any soldiers. I don't understand it. Perhaps Galbatorix hired mercenaries to harass us."

"I heard that you lost a ship recently." More that Eragon had remembered a conversation with Martin.

"The last one I owned," answered Jeod bitterly. "Every man on it was loyal and brave. I doubt I'll ever see them again... The only option I have left is to send caravans to Surda or Gil'ead—which I know won't get there, no matter how many guards I hire—or charter someone else's ship to carry the goods. But no one will take them now."

"How many merchants have been helping you?" asked Brom.

"Oh, a good number up and down the seaboard. All of them have been plagued by the same troubles. I know what you are thinking; I've pondered it many a night myself, but I cannot bear the thought of a traitor with that much knowledge and power. If there is one, we're all in jeopardy. You should return to Tronjheim."

Brom sighed. "And I will in time. And there _is_ a traitor. Two in fact. You may know them as the Twins."

Jeod's face twisted in horror. "No! It can't be."

"Think about it, Jeod. A pair of well-trained magicians, their pasts inscrutable, appearing and willing to pledge themselves to the cause. Sound too good to be true?"

Jeod sighed. "Du Vrangr Gata was desperate. Ajihad took them with almost no questions asked once they past the tests. I hate to think it, but it does make sense. It seems to fit their characters, the slimy pair. But what's the source of your information?"

Brom paused, preparing to lie to his friend. "There's something you don't know about the egg. Arya, the guardian of the egg, was attacked by Durza, a Shade in Galbatorix's employ. She sent it to me by magic, but we can assume she was captured or killed. The Ra'zac intercepted the runners sent to alert me and came to kill me. Eragon and I managed to lay a trap on them, killing them and their flying mounts. On them was a note from the Twins detailing the information about the runners."

Jeod all but snarled. "Do you have this note on you?"

"For safety's sake, I burned it. I trusted my word would carry enough wait with Ajihad."

"That was… surprisingly foolish of you."

Eragon shrugged. "He's grown even more paranoid and secretive in his old age."

"Yes, about that. How is it you look like this?"

Eragon reached up to scratch his neck, trying to convey bashfulness. "I may have experimented with a new healing spell to help with his aching bones. It was… surprisingly effective."

"And I yelled at him for an hour for taking such a risk," Brom said with a parental sigh, playing along. "Now, back to business. I have to get word to Ajihad. Do you have a messenger you can trust?"

"I think so," said Jeod. "It depends on where he would have to go."

"I don't know," said Brom. "I've been isolated so long, my contacts have probably died or forgotten me. Could you send him to whoever receives your shipments?"

"Yes, but it'll be risky."

"What isn't these days? How soon can he leave?"

"He can go in the morning. I'll send him to Gil'ead. It will be faster," said Jeod. "What can he take to convince Ajihad the message comes from you?"

Brom sighed and removed Aren from his finger. "Here, give your man my ring. And tell him that if he loses it, I'll personally tear his liver out. It was given to me by the queen."

"Aren't you cheery?" Jeod commented as he took the ring. "Now, to the great mystery. What brings you to Teirm?"

Brom took a deep draw on his pipe. "There's something hidden in Dorú Areaba, something vital to the war effort. I can't tell you more, because I honestly don't know more. Before the Fall, it was hidden with magic to make it so only a Rider could even keep the thought of it in their heads, and only a Rider can find it. I need to get Eragon and Saphira to Vroengard. I was hoping you could help us procure a ship and any necessary crew for the voyage."

Jeod's eyes lit with curiosity. "Fascinating. A secret weapon tucked away for the next generation. How devious. And you're sure Galbatorix didn't take it with him when he sacked the city?"

Brom grimaced. "We'd all know if he had. With the amount of power I believe is hidden away, Surda and the Varden would never have lasted as long as they have."

"Very well. I can aid you in finding a ship, but you'd be better off purchasing or chartering it yourselves rather than having me acquire it for you. I'll loan you any funds I can spare, but if the Twins have truly sold me out to the Empire, than any ship I send will be sunk like all the others, I'm sure of it."

"We can handle that when the time comes," Brom said, "But we'll need a few days of rest before we even think of proceeding."

Jeod smiled. "It seems that it is my turn to help you. My house is yours, of course. Do you have another name while you are here?"

"Yes," said Brom, "I'm Neal, and Eragon is Evan."

"Eragon," said Jeod thoughtfully. "You have a unique name. Few have ever been named after the first Rider. In my life I've read about only three people who were called such."

Eragon smiled. "It was actually my mother who named me. Perhaps she had hope that my life would turn out as it has."

Brom had a far-away look in his eyes. "Yes. Well, I believe that covers everything that cannot be said outside these walls. If we really must discuss things in the future, we can have Eragon secure the room as he has here."

"Ah, the real reason for having a child is revealed: to foist all tasks too difficult for yourself upon them," Jeod joked.

Eragon broke into fits of laughter, while Brom puffed with irritation on his pipe.

They left the castle. As they reentered the main body of Teirm, Brom said, "So, Jeod, you finally got married. And," he winked slyly, "to a lovely young woman. Congratulations."

Jeod did not seem happy with the compliment. He hunched his shoulders and stared down at the street. "Whether congratulations are in order is debatable right now. Helen isn't very happy."

"Why? What does she want?" asked Brom.

"The usual," said Jeod with a resigned shrug. "A good home, happy children, food on the table, and pleasant company. The problem is that she comes from a wealthy family; her father has invested heavily in my business. If I keep suffering these losses, there won't be enough money for her to live the way she's used to."

Jeod continued, "But please, my troubles are not your troubles. A host should never bother his guests with his own concerns. While you are in my house, I will let nothing more than an over-full stomach disturb you."

"Thank you," said Brom. "We appreciate the hospitality. Our travels have long been without comforts of any kind. Do you happen to know where we could find an inexpensive shop? All this riding has worn out our clothes."

"Of course. That's my job," said Jeod, lightening up. He talked eagerly about prices and stores until his house was in sight. Then he asked, "Would you mind if we went somewhere else to eat? It might be awkward if you came in right now."

"Whatever makes you feel comfortable," said Brom.

Jeod looked relieved. "Thanks. Let's leave your horses in my stable."

They did as he suggested, then followed him to a large tavern. As would be expected of a pub on the 'right' side of town, it was loud, clean, and full of boisterous people. When the main course arrived—a stuffed suckling pig—Eragon eagerly dug into the meat, but he especially savored the potatoes, carrots, turnips, and sweet apples that accompanied it. It had been a long time since he had eaten much more than wild game.

They lingered over the meal for hours as Brom and Jeod swapped stories. Eragon did not mind. He was warm, a lively tune jangled in the background, and there was more than enough food. The spirited tavern babble fell pleasantly on his ears. He kept his mind open to sense threats, but allowed himself to not be as vigilant as he perhaps should have been. At least he hadn't been drinking like Brom and Jeod had been.

"I'm going to go for a walk. I'll be back in the city before dark," Eragon told his companions when they finally exited the tavern. With a lazy wave and a word of warning about the gate from Jeod, Eragon sprinted out of the city. He met up with Saphira, and they enjoyed a calm hour looking out over the city from her hiding place, talking about everything and nothing. With reluctance, Eragon slipped from the embrace of his dragon and made for the city.

He came into sight of the portcullis just as it was beginning to lower. Calling for them to wait, he put on a burst of speed and slipped inside seconds before the gateway slammed closed. "Ya cut that a little close," observed one of the guards.

"It won't happen again," assured Eragon, who was proud to say he didn't have to catch his breath. The singing and training were having real, tangible results. He wound his way through the darkened city to Jeod's house. A lantern hung outside like a beacon.

A plump butler answered his knock and ushered him inside without a word. Tapestries covered the stone walls. Elaborate rugs dotted the polished wood floor, which glowed with the light from three gold candelabra hanging from the ceiling. Smoke drifted through the air and collected above.

"This way, sir. Your friend is in the study."

They passed scores of doorways until the butler opened one to reveal a study. Books covered the room's walls. But unlike those in Jeod's office, these came in every size and shape. A fireplace filled with blazing logs warmed the room. Brom and Jeod sat before an oval writing desk, talking amiably. Brom raised his pipe and said in a jovial voice, "Ah, here you are. We were getting worried about you. How was your walk?"

"Pleasant," Eragon said, aware he had to watch his words. The butler was listening in from the other side of the door, not maliciously but from general nosiness. "Teirm is a small city, but it's quite beautiful. Though I'm sure my opinion will change if it rains while we're here."

"Yes, that is a bane we all must learn to live with," Jeod chuckled.

Eragon browsed the books and scrolls of Jeod's collection as the two friends lapsed back into conversation. Eragon came across the _Dominance of Fate_ and, on a whim, pulled it out. His eyes flowed swiftly over the preface, written in flowing red ink by Heslant the Monk or one of the few who had copied his original manuscript. Eragon had owned a copy in his own collection, preserved by magic, in his study in the palace of Ristvak'skul. It was a beautiful book.

"What's that you have there, Eragon?" Brom asked. When his son revealed the black leather cover, his eyes widened. "Jeod, you've expanded your collection. Where did you get this? I haven't seen one in ages."

"Ah yes, the _Domia abr Wyrda_. A man came through here a few years ago and tried to sell it to a trader down by the wharves. Fortunately, I happened to be there and was able to save the book, along with his neck. He didn't have a clue what it was."

Brom, Jeod, and Eragon passed a few hours with pleasant conversation, sticking to light topics. Jeod seemed pleasantly surprised at the width and breadth of Eragon's knowledge base, though he made certain to keep to facts that had already been confirmed in the current time, instead of in the future. At some point, Eragon began to drowse. Out of pity for his exhaustion, Jeod bid them good night. "The butler will show you to your rooms."

On the way upstairs, the servant said, "If you need assistance, use the bellpull next to the bed." He stopped before a cluster of three doors, bowed, then backed away.

"Good night," Eragon bid his father.

"Eragon… I'm sorry, I've gotten a bit nostalgic this evening. I just want to give you a tiny bit of wisdom, though I'm sure it will do you little good." An outsider hearing that might consider it a jibe at Eragon's age, but the real meaning was that Eragon was far wiser in most respects than Brom himself.

Eragon turned to face Brom. "Very well, let's hear it."

Brom had a deep sadness in his eyes even as he smiled. "Courage isn't dying for your beliefs. Courage is in living and suffering for them."

Eragon nodded solemnly, and gave Brom a surprise hug. He knew, even without looking into Brom's mind, how much the man feared for Eragon's life.

They went to sleep after that, to dream and rest and prepare for the next leg of their adventure.

* * *

 **The next chapter is when we really start diverging from canon. I hope we're all prepared.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Mostly filler, next chapter is where the real good stuff will be. Until then, hope this whets your appetite.**

* * *

It was early in the morning when Eragon awoke, the force of habit and the energy of the household rousing him. While he could not retain full awareness of his surroundings in sleep like an elf, Eragon had trained himself to keep his mind open and sensitive while he dreamt. This left him vulnerable for any assault, but also allowed him to sense if any with malicious intent were drawing near. It was an imperfect method, and until he transcended mortal slumber, one he was forced to settle for.

Eragon reached out to Saphira, so far away, and kept their link open so they could remain in constant contact. _Good morning, Saphira._

 _Good morning, little one._

They traded dreams, and then both set out to start the day. Saphira went off hunting in the mossy forests that surrounded Teirm, while Eragon laced on his boots and stepped out his door. As luck would have it, Brom had awoken at the same time. "Neal," Eragon greeted, aware of the nearing butler.

"Evan," Brom greeted back.

"Sirs, if you'll follow me, the master awaits in the dining room for breakfast," the butler told them. He led them through the labyrinthine innards of the mansion, until they came to a grand dining room dominated by a fine oaken table that could easily seat a score of diners. Jeod sat at the head of the table, Helen seated at the opposite end. Eragon had never truly understood that particular aspect of etiquette. Why separate the host and hostess, who were often husband and wife, instead of placing them next to each other? It was one of those little foibles of high society that Eragon could only be glad he wasn't forced to abide by too often, though he made sure to be aware of them.

"Ah, Neal and Evan! Please, sit. Breakfast is just about to begin," Jeod said. He gestured for Brom to sit at the halfway point of the table to his left and Helen's right, marking him as the guest of honor. Eragon was seated opposite his father.

They had a warm and sumptuous meal, made awkward by Helen's silent disapproval. She never stooped so low as to be unkind or discourteous, but her resentment of their presence hung in the air like a miasma. Jeod hurriedly led the other two men to his study.

"I'm terribly sorry about that. I don't know what got into her," Jeod apologized.

Eragon kept his mouth shut. It wasn't his place to coach Jeod on how to navigate the perils of his marriage. _He welcomes total strangers like brothers with little to no explanation and he wonders why she is wary of us,_ he commented to Saphira.

 _Maybe he doesn't think a female has enough space in her head to worry over such things,_ Saphira said in a pointed tone.

 _I doubt it's that… or at least that he's doing it consciously. He may be unknowingly sheltering her because he doesn't want to trouble her, unaware of the consequences of his actions._

This conversation, which had happened at the speed of thought, ended when Brom spoke up. "First order of business, Eragon and I need new clothes. These are all but worn down to rags, and we'll have to present ourselves a certain way to entice a captain." Brom turned to Jeod. "You're certain we need a full ship instead of a boat?"

"Yes, I am," Jeod said resolutely. "Consider what you're transporting. A dragon, two horses, yourselves and the crew, and enough supplies to last them on a voyage to Dorú Araeba, where there's no chance to resupply, and then to Narda or back to Teirm. You'd need a caravel at least just to support Saphira's weight, if her dimensions are as you described to me. And a ship that size requires at least a team of three competent sailors. I doubt either of you have any nautical experience."

Technically, Eragon did, but he had no excuse for having it without revealing the secret of his journey through time.

"I'll make inquiries among what few sailors are still loyal to me," Jeod continued. "But it will be up to you to find a suitable ship for the journey. Again, I'm happy to burden the price, but I can only supply that and the men. It's up to you to find the right vessel."

Eragon and Brom shared a smile. "Price won't be a problem." Not with Eragon able to draw flecks of gold out of the earth and solidify them into a mass. A quick flight into the mountains and they should have enough raw gold to buy a perfectly fine ship for their purposes.

Before they left, Brom handed a folded letter to Jeod. "Get this to your messenger. Remember, it's his liver if he loses my ring."

Jeod bowed. "Of course, old friend."

Eragon and Brom went to one of the shops Jeod had named the day prior. They browsed through the wares, which were sturdy if not particularly fine or ornamented. Eragon settled on a pair of new shirts and trousers which he was confident were in his size. Eragon had the uncomfortable knowledge that the shop girl was picturing him out of his current clothing when he and Brom had rung up the purchase. While his heart had only ever belonged to Arya, not everyone had respected his wish to be a hermit. He'd been propositioned by a number of his own students over the centuries, most of whom were more attracted to the idea of him than his true character. Still, there had been those with a genuine affection for him. More than once, Eragon had been tempted to break his chastity, but he could never bring himself to do it.

He walked away from the shop flushed, hoping Brom didn't notice.

"So, that young maiden seemed quite taken with you," Brom said leadingly.

Eragon's only response was to groan in despair.

"You know, when you and your… admired meet again, you'll be the older of the two of you," Brom brought up. "That might shift the dynamic… considerably."

Eragon felt that same foolish hope well up in his chest. But he ruthlessly suppressed it. "There's no guarantee that her feelings for me will ever be more than friendship. There are more important things to worry about than the affairs of love."

Brom paused, reaching out to grab Eragon's shoulder. "Son, know this. I too sacrificed love for the sake of duty. I would not see you repeat my mistakes."

Eragon breathed deep. "Whatever will be, will be. That's something I learned the hard way. However things will transpire between me and _her_ , we have not even met yet. To worry or daydream will only serve to have me suffer twice."

Brom paused, before moving on. "Very well. It's your life."

They returned to Jeod's residence around midmorning. Brom and Eragon packed away their new clothes while changing, both taking the chance to enjoy the opportunity to bathe as they hadn't the night before. When they were both finished with their ablutions, they found themselves at a loss for what to do for the rest of the day.

"You go down to the docks, begin looking around. Make sure there's even a ship that would meet our needs available for purchase or rent," Eragon recommended.

"And what will you do?" Brom asked.

Eragon smiled. "I owe a visit to an old friend."

Bracing himself for a long and confusing conversation, Eragon walked next door to Angela's shop. With a breath to prepare, he walked inside.

At first he saw nothing because the store was so dark, but then his eyes adjusted to the faint greenish light that filtered through the windows. A colorful bird with wide tail feathers and a sharp, powerful beak looked at Eragon inquisitively from a cage near the window. The walls were covered with plants; vines clung to the ceiling, obscuring all but an old chandelier, and on the floor was a large pot with a yellow flower. A collection of mortars, pestles, metal bowls, and a clear crystal ball the size of Eragon's head rested on a long counter.

He walked to the counter, carefully stepping around complex machines, crates of rocks, piles of scrolls, and other objects he could not name. He realized he was alone; Angela must be out on an errand. The wall behind the counter was covered with drawers of every size. Some of them were no larger than his smallest finger, while others were big enough for a barrel. There was a foot-wide gap in the shelves far above.

A pair of red eyes suddenly flashed from the dark space, and a large, fierce cat leapt onto the counter. It had a lean body with powerful shoulders and oversized paws. A shaggy mane surrounded its angular face; its ears were tipped with black tufts. White fangs curved down over its jaw.

Eragon grinned. "Greetings, Solembum."

The werecat regarded him before, having assessed him, turned his attention to grooming his paw. _I've never met someone foolish enough to dive into wild magic. You Dragon Riders aren't so wise as you're made out to be. I assume we met in this future that will no longer be._

"Indeed." Eragon couldn't bring himself to be surprised at Solembum's knowledge. Werecats always seemed to know things they shouldn't.

 _And what shall I call you, other than 'you'?_

Eragon gave a wry grin. "I go by many names. If you're looking for my proper one, you will have to look elsewhere. However, you may call me Eragon."

Solembum purred deep in his throat.

The door to the shop swung open, letting in a beam of sunlight. Angela entered with a cloth bag full of plants. Her eyes flickered at Solembum and grinned. "Ah, so you two have met. He likes you. Congratulations are in order, that's a rare feat."

"I'm well aware," Eragon said mildly. "If I recall correctly, you asked me to stop by."

Angela tossed her head. "How good of you to remember our appointment!" She set her plants on the counter, then walked behind it and faced him. "First off, are you a customer or a guest? Is there anything you want? Or did you only come in to look?"

Eragon allowed himself to relax as he only did with Brom. For whatever reason, he didn't feel like he had to hide anything from Angela. However eccentric, her character was good. There would be no harm in telling her the truth. "You've actually provided services for me once before. It feels like a thousand years ago. You told me my fortune with the knucklebones of a dragon." Eragon grinned. "I've since come to realize that ignorance is bliss. I shan't ask for a second reading."

Angela's eyes gleamed. "Curiouser and curiouser. Time travel, is it? Terribly fascinating subject, though about as reliable and coherent as a drunken horse." Angela leaned forward, resting her arms on the counter. "I shan't ask for details, that would make everything so very boring. But if you're not here to have your fate revealed, than why are you here?"

"I desired for us to rekindle our friendship," Eragon replied honestly. "And I thought it would be a refreshing change for me to be the one to answer your questions, for once. I consider myself to be quite knowledgeable. Anything tickle your fancy?"

Angela grinned genially. "I've already made great progress thanks to your tip about the frogs. Tell me, do you happen to know the average airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

Eragon blinked. "That would depend on the variety of the swallow."

They bantered for hours, Angela asking a range of questions that ranged from riddles to hard science to esoteric theories of magic. The light came at lower and lower angles through the windows, leaving them in an emerald twilight. Finally, Angela waved a hand. "Well, that's enough for one day. I'm sure you've less tedious things to do than amuse an old witch. Before you leave though, may I ask your name?"

"Which one would you like to hear?" Eragon found himself saying.

Her eyes flashed with surprise and then glee. "Oh, perhaps you are a customer after all, though you come to barter rather than pay." Angela walked around the counter to lean back against it. "A fair trade, perhaps? A name for a name, as they did in the old days? I'm really quite interested in hearing yours. And it's not like you can really do anything with mine, not with that pesky nobility of yours."

Eragon chuckled. "I must be out of my mind, but agreed. I've always wondered about yours. You seem to defy explanation."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Now, shall we?"

Eragon strode forward, until they were as close as any pair of lovers. It was extremely intimate, but not nearly so much as the act he was about to perform. Leaning into her ear, Eragon spoke the collection of syllables that defined him. He spoke of courage and arrogance, passion and folly, caution and recklessness, of his love for his dragons and the mourning for losing one that melded bittersweetly with the joy of getting to know the other. He spoke of his admiration and respect for each race, touched as he was by each of their cultures, of his love for teaching, of the doomed love that had defined him from the time he was barely a man until he was older than legend. It took several sentences, a poem fit for the Father of Riders, and starkly revealed he was neither the best nor the worst there ever was, but he would always strive to improve. As he spoke, he felt a tingling come from his very core, filling and suffusing him until he had never felt more alive, as for a brief moment he stood unashamed and unhidden exactly as he was. Eragon had only shared his True Name with Saphira in this new life, and he felt a twinge of irrational fear at putting this much trust in one as flighty as Angela. But he continued, resolute, bound by his word as he had always been and always would be, unless he were to change on some fundamental level and become someone else entirely.

Angela shivered. And then, just as quietly and reverently, she whispered her name back. It was both longer than he expected and quite succinct, full of paradoxes and contradictions, chaotic as a summer storm and yet as sturdy as the heart of a mountain. It almost hurt his head to make sense of it, until he surrendered to the idea that it didn't have to make sense. It was Angela.

Eragon pulled back, forever touched by the experience of learning who the woman in front of him truly was. "Thank you," he said, the Common words feeling ugly and misshapen in the wake of the words they had spoken.

"My pleasure," Angela said, with all seriousness. Eragon turned to leave, but Angela called out when he got to the door. "Before you leave, who was the ragged man with you yesterday?"

Eragon grinned. "My father."

Angela's eyes flashed with knowledge, as he had half-expected. "I see. I'll save my laughter for after you leave. Though who knows? Mayhaps his doom will be averted with you there to save him."

Solembum chose that moment to leap onto the counter, padding between them. _Listen closely and I will tell you two things,_ he began.

 _The roots of the Menoa tree for a weapon, the Vault of Souls under the Rock of Kuthian for power. You've already told me,_ Eragon interrupted.

Solembum got very huffy, his hair bristling. _Well, no need to spoil it! It's fun to give dramatic warnings, I'll have you know._

 _I'll keep that in mind_ , Eragon soothed.

Eragon grabbed the door handle. Struck by whimsy, he said "Farewell, best of luck, avoid roasted cabbage, don't eat earwax, and look on the bright side of life!"

Angela's cackling filled the room, following him after he left the shop. Seeing it was late in the day, Eragon made for the gates and to Saphira.

She grabbed him from the top of the cliff she had chosen, and they spent a few minutes connecting and repeating their days to the other.

 _Why did you tell the witch you True Name?_ Saphira asked. _That was incredibly dangerous and foolhardy._

 _I trust her_ , Eragon said simply. _And I wanted to know hers. We'll both treasure the knowledge, but never use it. Some secrets are not meant to be shared, but a True Name was never meant to be one. This time is harsh and cruel, but I've seen it changed into one of peace and prosperity. On Nest, all the Elders of the New Order shared their True Names with each other._

Saphira grumbled, but settled down. _Well, I just hope you realize you put both of us at risk and try and avoid it in the future._

 _Of course, my heart, but I truly believe there was no risk. Angela is one of the good ones._

The dragoness huffed. _Perhaps I'm just jealous that you can share your Name when I cannot figure mine out._

Eragon reached out to pat Saphira's flank. They'd been trying to figure out her True Name almost since she began to talk, both in preparation for the Rock of Kuthian and also so they could strengthen their bond. When Saphira had first mentally called him 'Eragon', he had taken her close and revealed his True Name to her. It had changed as a consequence of his journey through time, but he'd known himself well enough to anticipate that and find his new one easily enough. Eragon has shared every iteration of 'his' Saphira's True Name, but none of them had fit. They'd rung with power like a half-drowned bell, but not one had stuck to the dragon that was the new Saphira.

Eragon had done his best to help, but he'd also known to keep his distance to a degree. A person's Name was something they should discover for themselves, not be told. They still had time until they were at the Rock of Kuthian. Even though he had already figured it out, Eragon waited for his companion to figure it out. It was the one secret he kept from her, though he did not hide from her that he knew it. If anything, the knowledge only inflamed her to try harder.

 _I have to leave soon,_ Eragon said a time later, when the sun was close to setting.

 _May the time we must be apart end swiftly,_ she said solemnly.

 _We may be off on our own journey tomorrow. I have to gather however much gold it will take to buy the ship, and veins will be more likely to be near the mountains. We may have to fly a fair distance before I enact the spell._

Saphira grumbled in happiness. _Then I look forward to our flight. Perhaps I'll finally manage to surprise you with a maneuver._

 _I almost know how to fly better than you do, I wouldn't hold out much hope_ , Eragon jested.

Eragon leapt from the top of the cliff, enjoying the thrill of the fall before slowing his descent with magic. He jogged back to the gates, and this time made it through them before the portcullis had even begun to lower. He was soon knocking on Jeod's door. "Is Neal back?" Eragon asked the butler.

"Yes sir. I believe he's in the study right now."

"Thank you," he said. Following the path from memory, Eragon strode to the room and entered with a knock to alert his presence. Brom was seated before the fire, smoking.

"How'd it go?" Eragon asked.

"I find myself having much more sympathy for Jeod's losses," Brom grumbled. "As it turns out, ships are bloody expensive. I found one that seems the perfect size for us, appropriately named the _Sapphire Sea_ , but it's over ten thousand crowns just to charter it! To say nothing of all the supplies we'll need and the wages of the crew."

"I can cover that when I go out tomorrow," Eragon assured. "It might be simpler gathering the gold than finding someone wealthy enough to buy it all."

Brom shrugged. "We'll deal with that when the time comes. I'm sure Jeod can direct us to a proper goldsmith or broker. Now, how went your talk with the witch?"

"Her name is Angela," Eragon corrected gently. "And it was a very pleasant way to spend an afternoon, thank you. I'm now more sure than ever she's a worthy ally to have, and a terrifying foe when properly roused."

"Good, good." Brom furrowed his brow. "You say that we meant once before?"

"You would have been much younger, and I'm not certain she would have looked the same," Eragon explained. "In her own words, you disapproved of her 'frivolous' attitude towards magic."

Brom's eyes widened. "Why, I still had my Saphira when that happened! How the blazes has she lived so long?"

"Remember, aging is just another health problem to fix to the right healer," Eragon explained. "I'm sure she's found some combination of fungi and herbs to make a suitable potion. For all I know, she was still around before I returned to Alagaësia the way I did."

Brom shook his head. "An immortal herbalist… you learn something new every day, I suppose."

They dined again in the dining room, placed between Jeod and Helen. Eragon had literally had cheerier meals at funerals. Distrust, resentment, and the discontent of a jilted wife radiated off of her like heat and light from a star.

* * *

Eragon and Saphira flew leagues away, close to the mountains. Eragon had her land near a ridge that looked like an abandoned mine. It was overgrown, the land once cleared reclaimed by nature, but there was no mistaking the arch leading into the cliffside.

Eragon enacted the sunlight enchantment, and merged his energy with Saphira's to give him access to the most power. Then, breaching past the barrier in his mind, he intoned " _Gold, rise to my hand and bind into bars_."

The flecks and particles and small veins of the precious metal within reach of Eragon's spell suddenly started rising to the surface. He kept up the spell for an hour, making sure that every piece of gold within a mile in any direction was before him. He finally ended the flow and canceled the spell that allowed him to draw power from the sun. He leaned against Saphira, his legs feeling slightly shaky. A couple months ago, the effort of the spell would have killed him. Now it merely tired him.

 _We're growing,_ Saphira noted solemnly.

Eragon used the spell to fold space to unobtrusively gather the gold. Saphira wouldn't have been able to carry it back and he didn't want any questions from the guards at Teirm's gate. That done, Saphira and Eragon leisurely flew back towards the city, all the wealth they had gathered hanging invisibly in the air behind Eragon's head. When Eragon had returned to Teirm, he retreated to Jeod's study, where both the man himself and Brom were waiting. With a phrase in the Ancient Language, Eragon warded the room and then allowed the dozen or so gold bars to appear on the ground.

Jeod's eyes widened as his jaw dropped. "Gods above!"

Brom's eyes glinted with the light reflecting off the gold. "It's a curious little spell, quite convenient for transporting heavy loads."

"Not that! All this could have bought my company at the height of my success! You could purchase a fleet with this much!"

Eragon shared a look and a mental conversation with Brom. "Jeod, Brom and I have an idea… We want _you_ to charter the _Sapphire Sea_."

Jeod took his eyes off the gold to look incredulously at the two of them. "But that would put you in danger!"

"Saphira and I can handle it. If and when the brigands that the Empire has preying on your and the other Varden shipments come for us, we'll send them to the bottom of the ocean. That will make it safe for you to start shipping to Surda again." Eragon gestured at the gold. "As for this, consider it payment for your hospitality."

Jeod seemed overwhelmed, sinking with a thump into his overstuffed chair. "I… I couldn't possibly…"

Brom snorted. "Good gods man, are you a merchant or aren't you? Why are you hesitating to claim this much gold?"

Jeod shook his head and seemed to draw from some inner strength. "You're right… you're right. With this, I'll rebuild my company and more!"

Eragon nodded with approval. Then, unable to help himself, he said "You might consider consulting Helen about how to invest and spend this. Keep in mind, she was raised around all this. She knows more about it than you do."

Jeod blinked, as if the idea had never occured to him. Eragon could only shake his head at the rampant sexism of this time. Things were much more egalitarian, where he came from. "... I will consider your advice, young Eragon. Perhaps I _should_ involve Helen in my affairs. She has a right to know who she married."

 _Good, he's learning,_ Saphira commented.


	7. Chapter 7

**Long time no see. I decided to pick this back up when I had the surprise realization that this is THE most popular Eragon fic. Who knew?**

The _Sapphire Sea_ set out a week after Eragon had gifted the gold to Jeod. Eragon and Brom set out with the tide; Uthar, Bonden, and a handful of other sailors Jeod had found and deemed loyal ran around the ship, keeping everything in order. Brom stayed out of the way, but Eragon slipped easily into helping to rig the sails and tie knots, to the sailor's appreciation.

"You're no landlubber. When did you last sail?" one of them asked.

Eragon shrugged. "This is the first time in my life I've been on a ship. I'm just a fast learner."

The sailor nodded, looking unconvinced, but didn't press the issue. An hour later, when they were well and truly out of sight of Teirm, Eragon called out with his mind. _Saphira!_

She flew down from where she'd been hanging over them, coming about to trail over the water to let off speed. The sailors cried out when they saw her, even though they'd been warned beforehand that a dragon would be coming onto the boat. Aligning her body with the line of the ship, Saphira set down as lightly as she could on the deck, tucking her tail in so it wouldn't sway and hit the mainmast. The whole ship bobbed and dipped under her weight.

"Gods above," muttered one of the men.

Eragon ran over to his dragon, leaping into the saddle. _Good luck dealing with the men,_ Eragon sent to Brom. Then, with a rush and a roar of adulation, Saphira took off from the deck of the ship, taking her and Eragon high into the sky.

 _Happy to see me?_ Eragon asked with a knowing smile.

 _Immeasurably_ , she projected. They flew over the endless ocean for hours, enjoying the salty breeze and looking out on the beauty of the water. _Eragon?_

 _Yes, Saphira?_

 _You're already so powerful, and yet your memories show me that you are but a pale shadow of what the Father of Riders was. Once you get your hands on these Eldunari… What will you be capable of?_

Eragon sighed, the weight and responsibility of power he never truly wanted settling on his shoulders. _I won't lie to you Saphira. With everything I knew, everything I had learned over the centuries rebuilding the Riders, and the might of over a hundred heart of hearts of the dragons behind me… I was like a god. I could mold reality to my whim. Very few acts were beyond my capacity or ingenuity._ Eragon leaned forward in the saddle, pressing his cheek to Saphira's neck. _There are some who said I squandered that power, never properly used it. And perhaps they were right. I could have done so much more to help, to heal, to change… but my fear held me back._

 _And what has changed?_ Saphira asked.

 _Everything,_ Eragon said simply. _Here I am, back at the start. All those old mistakes erased, all those triumphs undone. I've been offered a blank slate, like a tablet prepared for a fairth, and I cannot help but wonder what image I might imprint, what new world I could create._

Saphira flew. _You're not planning to replace Galbatorix._ It was a statement, not a question. She knew him better than to think he would ever chain himself with that much authority and obligation.

 _No. But… the war could end so much faster, cleaner. The Riders could return to glory so much swifter, guided by lessons that are already learned before their teaching._ Eragon closed his eyes and confessed the most forbidden hope in his breast. _We could_ stay _. I could gather water from the ocean with the space-fold spell and create a lake in the heart of the Hadarac. I could create an oasis from nothing. I could rebuild Ristvak'skul not on Nest, but in the heart of Alagaësia._

 _We wouldn't have to leave,_ Saphira observed. Then she touched on the most obvious conclusion. _You could be with Arya, and I with Firnen._

Eragon sighed. "My love for her will ever endure. But it's much the same as with you and the Saphira of the future past. She's not _my_ … Arya. And just because I'll always pine for her, it doesn't mean you must as well. And Firnen may prove to be no more than your brother, for you are not the Saphira that met him and became smitten with the first male dragon of mating age that was interested in you."

Saphira rolled her eyes. _Right, you are. I'm quite embarrassed on her behalf, if half of what she got up to with Glaedr is accurate._

 _She believed she was alone, the last female and indeed the last sane member of her race. She was desperate for affection, to have the chance to be a mate, a mother._ Eragon did not excuse, merely explain.

 _Whereas I am secure in the knowledge that there are hundreds of my kin just waiting to be hatched after the mad king Galbatorix is dealt with,_ Saphira reasoned. _Eragon, what became of Shruikan?_

Eragon brought up the relevant memories. _In Elva's words, he was the most unhappy creature to ever live. His madness was deemed too great for us to save. We could only end his misery with the Dauthdaert._ Eragon sighed. _Perhaps now, with all the knowledge of psychology and the brain and soul behind me, I could rehabilitate him. But it could require years._

 _Still, I'd prefer if not one more dragon suffered another death,_ Saphira stated resolutely.

 _As would I, my dear._

They kept quiet for a few hours more, eventually turning around and making back for the _Sapphire Sea_. They enjoyed the silent meditation and bonding time as much as their long, winding conversations. They were truly the very best of friends.

Saphira touched down on the ship as delicately as she could, and still left scratches as her claws were forced to dig into the wood to hold her in place. Eragon worried over them, afraid how those to use the ship in the future would see them and think of them. He'd repair them with magic before they left the ship for the final time, he decided.

"How are the men taking things?" Eragon asked his father who walked forward.

"Well as can be expected. Sailors are a superstitious lot, and one keeps muttering about how a dragon is bad luck. Otherwise, everyone is honored just to have seen her," Brom answered.

"Well, they'll get very used to her over the next few weeks," Eragon mused.

And so they did. Over the next 5 weeks, the sailors adapted to having the only living female dragon as a passenger. She'd even consented to let most of them pet her scales and see her beauty up close, though one sailor named Derf refused to come within three paces of her, convinced he would die from sheer bad luck.

They were attacked twice, the first time 3 days out of Teirm and the second halfway through their journey. Both times three boats with black sails appeared from nowhere on the horizon and sailed in on attack vectors. Eragon dealt with them simply and fatally, removing all wards defending them and then setting the ships alight. The sailors became almost more superstitious of Eragon than Saphira.

Brom proved a terrible victim of seasickness, which Eragon did his best to magically soothe. When he wasn't rubbing Brom's back, he kept himself occupied by singing to himself and the horses. Saphira was spared any magical growth due to the fact the ship might capsize under her should she grow too big.

Finally, the day came when land appeared on the horizon and the ward Eragon had set up for radioactivity went off. On his order, the anchor was weighed and the _Sapphire Sea_ came to a halt. Eragon and Brom mounted Saphira, warded to the bone against any possible threat in the weird, mutated expanse of Dorú Araeba. Then, wishing the crew well and promising to return within three days or they could leave for Narda, Eragon and Brom and Saphira took off for the ruined home of the old order of Dragon Riders.

They reached the island within an hour of flying, and took another two to reach the center. Visible in the undergrowth beneath them were a city of Elvish design but with Dragons clearly in mind. Cathedrals and temples and palaces sung out of the wood were spotted through the foliage. All of it had a lost, forgotten quality, tainted by the invisible poison in the air. They did their best to ignore the skeletons of dragons strewen everywhere, but it wasn't easy; some of those skeletons had eyeholes big enough for Saphira to fly through.

Finally, they landed at the Rock of Kuthian, paying wary attention to all the mutations and magical abberations that populated the island. That and the snalglí, the giant snails that had claimed the majority of the island as their domain.

"Okay, Eragon. What now?" Brom asked, eyes a century away as he looked on the ruins of his old home.

Eragon cricked his neck. "Now Saphira and I go get the tool that will let us take down Galbatorix once and for all. And then we might take advantage of the near unlimited energy in the air to do some large-scale spells."

Then Eragon and Saphira turned to the prominent Rock of Kuthian. Taking a deep breath, Eragon declared his True Name. Once he'd finished, Saphira launched into her own iteration of her True Name. She'd finally cracked it on the voyage over. Turns out she'd forgot to account her obsession with growing fast, something that was purely hers and not the old Saphira's.

When Saphira finished, an invisible seam appeared in the stone and opened, revealing a downward-sloping tunnel into darkness. Conjuring a werelight, giving Brom one last wave, Eragon and Saphira began their descent.

The deeper they went, the more uncomfortable the silence of the tunnel became apart from their footsteps. And the hotter it got, as they came closet and closer to the geothermal pocket that was the Vault of Souls.

Finally, passing under an archway brimming with memory magic that Eragon refused to let touch him, he and Saphira came upon the Vault of Souls, the secret weapon the old order had tucked away for those that would rise against Galbatorix decades after the initial war was lost. A cache of 136 Eldunari and 243 eggs, all guarded by the automaton Cuaroc.

Eragon gazed around the room, lit and heated by the bubbling magma pit in the center. Then he bowed. "Honored ancestors, you are found."

He could all but sense the noise as over a hundred draconic ghosts conversed silently. Finally, one in particular touched Eragon's mind. _You have found us, Traveler of Time._

"Eragon Bromson is my preferred name, Umaroth-elda," Eragon replied out loud, just to differentiate between the living and the undead in the chamber.

 _We must confess, we never anticipated this. Wild magic is truly capable of miracles._ The spokesman of the Eldunari mused.

Eragon shrugged. "What matter is it what future I came from? What matters is the future we build now."

Saphira paused in surveying all the unhatched eggs, oddly maternal instincts rushing to the fire. _The eggs can't handle much more of this darkness and stagnance. We have five years at most before they start dying inside their shells. This war that's about to start has a deadline._

 _Well-observed, daughter of Vervada,_ Umaroth stated calmly. _We were planning to let ourselves be discovered near the climax of the war, so that it would be decided swiftly and their fate determined one way or the other. But your Rider has decided to claim us early._

Eragon shrugged. "Why deprive myself of your power and wisdom until the final battle is on the horizon? Best to have you with me, on the frontlines, from the very beginning. That gives us the most chance to do good."

 _Well, you are the one who opened the Vault. We will defer to your wish to use us sooner than we would prefer,_ Umaroth stated, speaking the consensus of all the Eldunari.

Eragon nodded and spent the next hour setting all the Eldunari in a pile on the ground. Then he used the space-folding spell to tuck the dozens of living crystals into a tiny spot behind his head. With a last, longing look at the unhatched eggs, Eragon and Saphira walked out of the Vault. Eragon felt the magic of the archway try to erase the knowledge of the eggs from his mind, but Eragon's millenium-old mind resisted. In the event they lost, Eragon _wanted_ Galbatorix to learn of the Vault of Souls. At least then the Dragons would be resurrected from the edge of extinction. In a world crafted in his own mad image, but at least they'd be alive.

Brom was waiting impatiently for them as he and Saphira emerged from the Rock of Kuthian. "Do you have them?" He asked sharply.

 _Peace, Brom Holcombson. Your son was successful in his endeavor,_ spoke Vrael's dragon, the chorus of draconic growls and roars in the background lending music to his thoughts.

Brom visible sagged with relief. "Thank every god and demon listening. Galbatorix isn't the only one with more than one heart on his side anymore."

Eragon nodded. "Well, no time like the present. I had some ideas for some spells we could work straightaway, Umaroth-elda. Especially while we're here, and I can work an enchantment allowing you to harness the lingering energy from the nuclear explosion during the war. We'll essentially have unlimited energy to work with, the difficult part will be harnessing it all usefully."

 _Such as?_ Asked the Eldunari.

"First, transforming me. Second, transforming Saphira. Third, getting Thorn and Firnen's eggs from Galbatorix. And finally, transporting us and our horses back to the mainland so we don't have to bother with a return voyage," Eragon listed matter-of-factly.

… _These seem simple enough, and seem to serve our joined purpose well enough. Did you have any ideas in mind for your new, finished form apart from the standard Human Rider?_ Umaroth inquired.

Eragon hesitated. "Well… the truth is I want aspects from all five races for my body. I want to resemble the finished Riders of my own time, after Dwarves and Urgralgra were added to the original pact. It got to the point that Riders ceased to identify as just their birth race, but as a new hybrid race unique to the New Order: Alagaësians. Simple as that."

Brom frowned. "You're sure you want to look like you have Urgal heritage? Keep in mind you're to be the face of the Varden once we get to Tronjheim. Might be hard to get the masses to rally behind a man with horns, regardless of whether he's riding a dragon or not."

"I won't have horns, only born Urgralgra had those. But grey flesh, possibly yellow eyes… I see nothing wrong with that, but I recognize it would give most Men, Dwarves, even Elves of this time pause. Still, I vowed to lead and represent the New Order of Dragon Riders, which included all four of the Rider races. I won't shake from that duty over some cosmetic details," Eragon said passionately. "At worst, we can claim I mutated my appearance like an elf for aesthetic reasons."

Brom puffed on his pipe and sighed. "Your body, your decision son. I'll love you even if you looked all an Urgal. And I'd still proudly claim you as my son, whatever ideas that would put in other's heads."

 _If you serious about doing this forthwith, then kindly lend us the knowledge we need,_ Umaroth asked of Eragon.

Obediently, Eragon fed the Eldunari the full biology of Urgralgra and Dwarf males, to mix with their own familiar knowledge of Elf and Human males. He didn't bother with knowledge about Dragons, figuring the Eldunari knew more on that subject than even he did after a millenium of study.

 _That will be sufficient. Now, what is this enchantment to harness the poison energy in the air?_ Umaroth asked.

Eragon fed the spell to the ghost and physically felt the moment the Eldunari all enacted it. The pocket of space behind his ear began to all but glow with heat and light as the nuclear energy was absorbed by the hidden heart of hearts.

The Eldunari kept the language of the spell simple. _Flesh of Urgal. Bone of Dwarf. Blood of Elf. Heart of Man. Soul of Dragon._

And then Eragon felt like he was struck by a lightning bolt. It wasn't even pain so much as a strike of pure energy and sensation.

When he blinked himself awake, it was to Brom wiping a wet cloth on his forehead, Saphira visibly craning her neck to keep a firm eye on his face. Eragon stirred and felt curiously bare. "Am I naked?" He asked, only to blink. That morning he'd had a teenager's wobbly tenor. Now he had a baritone, almost a bass rumble that reminded him of barrel-chested men like Horst and Fredric. Had the Eldunari sped him right through puberty as well?

"Apparently, you took after a Kull rather than just a plain Urgal," Brom said simply. "You're a good foot and a half taller. Your clothes didn't survive the transition."

Eragon gathered himself and came to his feet. He felt an odd sturdiness, as if his bones were reaching down into the Earth to anchor him. That would be the Dwarf aspect. Looking down at Brom from a height of over 7 feet, he mused that was the Urgralgra part. That and the greyish tint to his skin. Gathering himself, he kept a good 10 feet into the air. That would be the Elf aspect. And he still felt like himself, so he guessed he'd always be Man on the inside. He wondered how the Dragon aspect would emerge, or if his bond with Saphira had that part covered.

Casting a spell to turn thin air reflective, Eragon admired his new body, the one that he'd theoretically have for the rest of eternity. Other than his height and skin tone, he could easily be mistaken for a simple Man, though his features had the aristocratic tilt of the Elves. His musculature reminded him of a statue one of his students had made depicting a god mid physical labor. He looked as deadly as he did beautiful. Eragon even noted with hidden glee that his manhood had grown larger too.

Turning and finding the rags he'd grown out of during the course of the transformation, Eragon used magic to repair and expand them. Even then it was a tight fit. Once he was decent, Eragon turned to Saphira. "Your turn, girl."

Saphira perked up. She'd been looking forward to this.

This spell was much simpler than altering Eragon's basic physical make-up. They just had to speed up Saphira's growth by a couple years. At that size, she'd be the right balance between small enough to maneuver around others and fit in the tunnels of the Beor Mountains, and large enough to strike intimidation into the armies of Galbatorix. They didn't have a prayer of making her as big as Shruikan or even Glaedr, but they could get her past gawky adolescence and into full adulthood.

The Eldunari gathered and molded the energy, and in a flash Saphira's size had increased over fivefold. She blinked dazedly. _That felt… wow._ She shook her head and happened to spy a nearby snaglí. In a quick lunge and jerk motion, she'd grabbed the slimy flesh of the overgrown snail and swallowed the thing whole. The thing would have been a decent meal for Saphira not two minutes beforehand. Now it equated to a light snack.

Eragon admired Saphira's adult body, at a size that was only reached by dragons and no other living creature. "We'll need to grow the saddle again. That or just make a new one given our new sizes."

Saphira paused in eating the empty shell. _I've no idea why the Saphira of your memories was so against artificial growth. This skipping months and years at a time of boring old-fashioned growing is most delightful._

"She was a bit of a purist. She found the more eccentric Elves to be touched in the head for altering their bodies so extensively. She seemed to have a preference for old-fashioned nature rather than magical enhancement," Eragon answered his dragon. "Plus, the one getting artificially grown was a rival dragon that was mentally stunted by being a Name-slave. She probably didn't like the disparity between Thorn's insides and outsides."

 _Her loss,_ Saphira shrugged, finishing her little appetizer.

Feeling on a roll, Eragon began to word the spell to magic the eggs from Urû'baen when Brom coughed. "It occurs to me… while you're magically reaching across the land to the capital, and you're capable of removing wards with a word… what's stopping you from killing Galbatorix from here?"

Eragon froze, the enormity of the thought striking him dumb. He soon saw the problem, though. "Absolutely nothing, apart from the rampage an unleashed Shruikan could inflict on the world."

Brom winced. "Forgot about that part. Very well, settle for swindling his prize possessions out from under his nose. Just would have hated to waste the opportunity while we're here."

Working in tandem with the Eldunari, Eragon invoked the Word and, feeling mischievous, removed every ward in Urû'baen, not just those guarding the dragon eggs. Let Galbatorix and his Black Hand of magicians deal with that mess. Then Eragon cast the teleportation spell.

In a flash of blue light, sans any explosions or wasted energy, the eggs containing Murtagh's and Arya's dragons appeared on the ground. Eragon soon scooped them and added them to the space-folding spell where they'd be perfectly safe.

After that, it was a simple matter of cleaning up after themselves. Summoning Holcomb and Snowfire from the hold of the _Sapphire Sea_ with barely an effort, Eragon gathered the lot of them together and cast, the Eldunari fueling the spell, _"Transport us to the forest outside Teirm."_

There was a feeling of weightlessness before being swiftly and harshly reclaimed by gravity. Eragon and Brom and even the horses toppled to the ground. The only reason Saphira didn't fall was she was too large and grounded.

"No wonder that spell isn't used for living things. It's bloody uncomfortable," Brom groused as he got to his feet and dusted himself off.

Eragon had his eye on Teirm, just visible in the distance. "There would have been a flash of light. We need to move."

Quickly mounting the horses, Eragon having to majorly let out the stirrups to account for his new height (Holcomb bearing his new weight stoically), they made for the Spine while Saphira took off into the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

They rode until they reached the foothills of the Spine. It might have been Eragon's imagination, but it almost felt like he could sense Galbatorix's anger and rage all the way from the capital. Which, it occurred to him, he could. He had the body of a grown Rider again. His mind could likely reach as far as Urû'baen if he cared to try. Not that he would do something so foolish while the king was in a foul mood. Eragon double-checked the dragon eggs in the space-fold, making sure they were secure.

Setting up camp, Eragon took the time to do the Rimgar, adjusting to his new limbs as he performed the Dance of Snake and Crane. That done, Eragon took out Zar'roc and dulled the edge. Brom silently dulled his own blade. Moving around the fire cautiously, Brom was the first to strike.

Three moves later, Brom was disarmed. Eragon breathed deep. "I need to remember to keep my technique sharp. Last go around I fell into a bad habit of brute forcing my way to the killing blow."

Brom shook out his wrist. "I forgot how damned strong a fully-fledged elf or Rider was. Looking back, I have no idea how I beat Morzan."

"He was likely overconfident while you were cunning like a fox," Eragon complimented his father. "He left an opening which you seized. It only has to happen once in a fight."

 _We might have influenced that fight from the Vault,_ Umaroth contributed.

Brom sighed. "Mystery solved, outside manipulations."

Saphira landed in the clearing they'd camped in, barely stopping herself from crushing either of them or the horses. _Was everything always so… small?_ She asked in an aggrieved manner.

Eragon patted her shoulder. "Have you tried breathing fire yet? Your fire-lung is fully developed now."

Saphira perked up. Turning to the campfire, she let out a string stream of indigo flames. She looked inordinately pleased at the accomplishment.

Eragon went through his bag and pulled out every piece of clothing he owned. All of it was now far too small and thin. Working some quick spells, Eragon did the best he could to adjust the fit of the pants and shirts to his new dimensions. That done, he eyed his greyish skin in the light of the fire. "I'm going to have to skin a bear for a cloak while we're going through the Spine. Anyone who takes one look at me and hears I'm your son will assume you're mad and mated with a female Kull."

"Amusing as it would be to see those reactions, that's probably a good idea." Brom filled his pipe and began to smoke his cadmus weed. "Now, what's the plan going forward? We have the Eldunari. What's the next phase of our adventure across the country?"

Eragon steepled his hands, considering the situation from every angle. "We need to find Murtagh and have him hatch Thorn. Then we need to make straight for Gil'ead and Durza to rescue… Arya. With Firnen hatched, it's just a brief trek across all Alagaësia to the Beors and Tronjheim. Whether there's a Battle of Farthen Dûr depends on whether I can kill Durza."

Brom nodded. "Okay. Now there's just the question of finding someone Galbatorix considers as good as a prince. Is he tucked in Urû'baen?"

Straining his memories, Eragon said "At this point, he's fled Urû'baen. Galbatorix revealed the monster behind the mask. According to him, he hid on the estate of a friend. Now we either need to find that estate or convince him to come to us."

Creating a depression in the ground and filling it with water with a few words, Eragon said _"Dream stare,"_. In a rush of cloudiness, the form of his half-brother appeared in a white room. So he was somewhere Eragon had never seen. Withdrawing the focus of the spell, Eragon got a general idea of where in the Empire Murtagh was.

Then he cast his mind leagues from his body, fast as a wraith, to hover at his older sibling's shoulder. Feeling guilty for what he was about to do, Eragon held Murtagh's mental shields in his eldritch grip and crushed them like a walnut.

 _Peace! I only want to talk,_ Eragon told the other son of Selena, broadcasting nothing but gentle non-hostility. At first Murtagh was too panicked, desperately trying to cast out the mental intruder ineffectively. The longer Eragon waited without doing anything, though, the less frantic Murtagh's struggle became.

… _Who is this? Do you serve the King?_ Murtagh asked hesitantly, clearly waiting for his will to be stolen at a moment's notice.

 _Hardly. I'm a Dragon Rider. I serve Alagaësia._ Eragon kept it simple. No need to overwhelm the teenager.

Murtagh froze. … _You're lying. There's no Dragon Riders left except Galbatorix._

 _I'm sure you kept your ear to the ground, Murtagh. You didn't hear how the Varden's egg vanished when Durza attacked the courier? Perhaps you heard something about the Ra'zac disappearing mysteriously in the Spine while in pursuit of the same egg?_

Murtagh gulped and sat down in his chair. _Oh gods… that was you?_

 _I cast the spell that killed them, with magic I only had access to because of my bond with my dragon. Her name is Saphira._ Eragon thought softly.

Murtagh grit his teeth. _How can I believe a word you say?_

 _Well, that's tricky, since you don't know the Ancient Language. I suppose you'll just have to trust me. And believe me when I say you should make for Teirm in all haste._

 _And why would I do that?_ Murtagh asked belligerently.

 _Because I just stole Galbatorix's other two eggs today. And one of them is meant for you. So if you want to be a Dragon Rider, one nothing like your father or Galbatorix, you'll come to me. And me and my companion will go to you. We'll meet somewhere in the middle_ , Eragon reasoned.

Eragon felt Murtagh's disbelief war with a childlike desire. _You must think me utterly mad. If you're near Teirm, how'd you steal the two dragon eggs?_

 _Magic._ Eragon replied simply.

 _And one of them is meant for me? Really? How can you tell?_

 _Again, magic. So you can saddle Tornac, come to me, and you can see if what I'm saying is true. Or you can stay put and force me to come all the way to you. Either way, we'll be meeting soon, and I'll present you with a dragon egg._

Murtagh chewed it over. … _Just who are you, exactly? And don't say a friend, don't say a Dragon Rider. Who are you?_

Eragon took a chance. _Eragon, son of Selena and Brom. My father seduced her shortly after you were born. They ended up truly in love, though. You remember hearing she was absent around the time your father was killed? She'd fled to Carvahall to have me and see me raised by Uncle Garrow. Then Brom found me and started training me. Then Saphira hatched for me and this whole mad dance started._

Murtagh could have been knocked over with a feather. … _You're lying. You have to be lying._

 _Do I feel like I'm lying?_ Eragon asked non-sarcastically. Eragon projected his honesty and good intentions into Murtagh's mind.

… _I have a brother. I have a brother and he's a Dragon Rider._ Murtagh thought faintly.

 _And so will you be, when we meet. So, you going to head for Teirm?_

… _I must be out of my mind. I'll only head out because I don't want you coming here and jeopardizing my friend._

 _Good. It'll take us about a fortnight to get through the mountains. Head for the Toark River, I'll coordinate on my end to head for you. With any luck, soon we'll meet and you'll join me as a Rider._

 _Fine. Let's find out how this goes. Just one last question, who's your companion besides… Saphira?_

 _My father,_ Eragon thought simply.

Murtagh blinked. _Why didn't you say that to start? I'll head for you just for the chance to shake that man's hand. Brom may be an anarchist, but he saved me from a childhood filled with Morzan's horrors._

Eragon grinned. _Then we have an accord. The Toark River. Two weeks. Fair warning, I don't exactly look… human. I may have experimented with magic to reshape my body._

 _Why would you do that?_ Murtagh asked, flummoxed.

 _So I can better kill Galbatorix._ Eragon thought flatly.

 _Ah._

Sensing Murtagh begin to plan his trip, Eragon withdrew from his mind.

"Good talk with the brother?" Brom asked lightly.

"He's coming towards the Toark. It's our job not to miss him." Eragon shrugged. "Let's get some sleep. I'll also take watch."

"Never did get that handy ability," Brom mused as he pulled out his sleeping pallet.

Eragon passed the next few hours in the waking doze characteristic of the Elves. He remained fully aware of his surroundings physically and magically, but his body went into a healing rest and fantastic visions played behind his eyes. Eragon woke with the dawn and did the Rimgar again to make sure he'd fully adjusted to this new body. It occurred to him that with dwarf bones, he could get Fists of Steel. Eragon had always been fascinated by the implanted brass knuckles.

Cooking breakfast and letting the aroma wake his father, Eragon enjoyed a hot meal with Brom and then they saddled the horses. Saphira took off into the skies after a quick cuddle with Eragon.

The next two weeks feel into a rhythm of making as fast a trek as possible through the mountain passes in this portion of the Spine. Eragon indeed skinned a bear and fashioned a cloak. Eragon made daily checks with scrying on Murtagh's progress. So far, it looked like they'd meet up shortly before they managed to exit the Spine proper.

The day came when Eragon and Brom met a rider coming towards them on a fine warhorse. He was young, about 18, and wore clothes that hinted at both fashion and function. The quality of his weapons indicated a life of wealth. There was an unfortunate amount of Morzan to his features, but Selena had left her own impression.

Eragon waved. "Greetings, brother. You made good time."

Murtagh eyed the two of them distrustingly. "Eragon and Brom?" He asked, as if expecting some joke or ambush.

Saphira chose that moment to land thunderously behind them. Holcomb and Snowfire were too used to Saphira's antics by this point to react, especially with Eragon to mentally calm them with magic. Tornac almost reared and threw Murtagh, but Eragon's brother was a fine horseman and didn't lose his seat.

"That answer your question?" Eragon asked dryly.

Murtagh gaped at Saphira's sheer magnificence. "By the gods!"

 _Saphira will suffice, or Brightscales if you prefer,_ she projected to Murtagh, not bypassing his shields but making herself heard regardless.

Murtagh seemed honored to have his mind touched by a dragon. "She's beautiful. But how the hell is she so big? Her egg must have hatched barely 4 months ago!"

Eragon gave a little wiggle of his fingers. "Magic."

Murtagh sighed and got off Tornac. Eragon and Brom did the same. They walked forward until they were within hand-shaking distance.

Murtagh seemed to gird himself. "So, you know who I am. And I think I know who you are. Just so we're on the same page, I am Murtagh, the unfortunate son of Morzan and Selena."

"I am Brom, the reason you're fatherless," Brom said simply.

"And I'm Eragon, son of Brom and Selena, Rider of Saphira," Eragon said, pulling back the hood on his cloak.

Murtagh blinked. "You look like you're half-Kull, half-elf. Which I'm sure has never actually occurred. Magic again?"

"Yes," Eragon said simply. Then he reached out and pulled Murtagh into a tight embrace. "We may have different fathers, but we're still blood. You're family. No matter what happens, never hesitate to call me brother."

Murtagh blinked heavily like he was fighting back tears. The moment of weakness soon passed. "Good to know, Eragon." Turning to Brom, Murtagh held out his hand. "My thanks for murdering my father. He deserved far worse."

Brom took the offered hand with a firm shake. "Believe me, I know. The whole reason I started the Varden was to get my revenge on Morzan. Galbatorix was just a handy excuse."

Murtagh nodded as if this knowledge didn't surprise him. "He was a man of many sins."

Eragon reached to his belt and unlaced Zar'roc. "Before I give you your egg, this sword is your inheritance. Use it, throw it in the river, do with it as you wish. It's your decision."

Murtagh eyed the elvish blade like it was a snake poised to strike. Finally, he took it with reluctant hands. "If I'm to be a Rider, I'll need a Rider's blade. I'll redeem its legacy, though it might take me decades."

"Good attitude," Brom said, pating Murtagh on the shoulder.

Once Misery was belted at Murtagh's side and his usual hand-and-a-half sword was put in Tarnoc's saddlebags, Eragon pulled Thorn's egg from the space-fold that held the Eldunari, which had helpfully elected to remain silent for this conversation. Eragon presented it humbly. "Your best friend in all the world. You just haven't met him yet."

Murtagh held the egg with wonder and disbelief. "You actually stole it. Galbatorix must have razed the city to the ground in his rage."

Saphira had been a bit of a slow hatcher. Thorn evidently took much less time to decide he wanted to enter the world. With an explosion of eggshell and yolk, the red hatchling burst from the egg, still held awkwardly in Murtagh's grip.

Murtagh gaped. He brought up his right palm almost unconsciously. The unnamed dragon reached out to press his nose to the palm. With a flash of light, Murtagh was on the ground, the gedwëy ignasia bright as snow on his palm. The red dragon played on the boy's unconscious chest.

Saphira leaned down and breathed very hard on the hatchling. _Calm down, little one._

Thorn paid her no mind, though he did seem fascinated by the much larger female hovering over him. Murtagh soon stirred, and Thorn's attention refocused on his human. Murtagh looked down at the hatchling on his chest and the gedwëy ignasia on his palm. "Oh, gods. It really happened. I'm a Dragon Rider."

Eragon nodded. "As such, you serve the five races of Alagaësia equally. And I think we both know who's the biggest threat to their safety."

Murtagh groaned. "Is Galbatorix a good king? Not by any stretch of the imagination. But he's still better than total anarchy. You expect me to just join the Varden now and set out to tear the whole system down?"

Brom frowned. "I don't know where you got your information, but our goal has always been to keep the original system of the Broddring Kingdom intact. We won't bring down the whole government, just replace the despot sitting on the throne."

Murtagh blinked. "... I suppose I should have considered the source when I heard ill news about the king's enemies," he mused. He turned down to the red dragon and sat up, curling the hatchling in his lap. "This little guy is mine?" He asked with boyish wonder.

"As much as you are his. And the first thing he needs is a name," Eragon prompted.

Murtagh considered it. "... Thorn. Because he's pretty as a flower but he's still got teeth."

Brom nodded. "A good, strong name for a young dragon."

"What happens now?" Murtagh asked, standing with Thorn perched on his shoulder.

"Now we go to Gil'ead. On the way, Brom will do his best to make you a Rider worthy of the name. And once we're there, we rescue the Rider of the other egg. She's being kept prisoner by Durza."

Murtagh paled. "You couldn't force me to be within a league of that… thing. Galbatorix got him year ago and he's swiftly become the king's favorite toy."

"Well, we're going to do our best to slay him. Which, coincidentally, will free all the Urgals under Durza's thrall."

Murtagh gaped. "If the Urgals obey Durza, then they obey Galbatorix. That would mean…"

"Galbatorix doesn't care for any life but his own. If he has to sacrifice hundreds of his citizens to get a second army, he'd do it without blinking," Brom asserted surely.

Murtagh gulped. "Okay. Feeling less unsure about pledging to stand against him."

They made as much progress as they could with the remaining daylight. Then Brom challenged Murtagh to what would become a nightly spar. Eragon watched from the corner of his eye as he did drills to maintain his form. Murtagh was about as good as a human his age and build could be. Even the advantage of Zar'roc's light weight couldn't beat out Brom's greater experience, though.

The next two months passed swiftly. They made their way for Gil'ead, avoiding the road whenever possible until Thorn was strong enough to fly with Saphira. When encounters with other travelers proved inescapable, Eragon and the Eldunari veiled Thorn with magic so his gawky young body was invisible.

Thorn and Murtagh both made excellent progress. Though he'd yet to access magic, Murtagh proved quite studious in the Ancient Language. He'd have stumbling conversations with both Brom and Eragon to help his fluency. When it came to basic education and learning how to fight, Murtagh was already as set as possible given his expensive upbringing. Thorn turned out to have a playful, innocent nature with more than just a touch of mischief. He loved Murtagh dearly, and saw Saphira and the others as part of their odd little family, even the horses. The look on both their faces when they had their first flight together was wondrous to behold.

Finally, they arrived at the fields surrounding Gil'ead. Just looking at a distance, it was impossible not to recognize the town for what it was: a military center.

The three men, two dragons, and dozens of Eldunari regarded the barracks from a distance, the moon high in the sky. "What's the plan, little brother?" Murtagh asked. It hadn't escaped his notice that while Brom was the oldest, more often than not the aged former Rider deferred to his son's authority.

Eragon considered it. "I'm the only one out of us who can match Durza physically. And the fewer people who break into the prison, the less chance of getting caught. I say I sneak in alone, free the elf, and get her out. Durza we can save for a later date. And if I do run into him, me and the Eldunari can handle him."

Saphira snorted. _Like hell I'll let you wander alone into danger. Let me make a distraction at least._

Brom shook his head. "Saphira, as of this moment Galbatorix doesn't know for sure you've hatched. I'd rather we kept him in ignorance as long as possible. Eragon's plan is sound."

She snorted smoke, grumbling. She'd gotten control of the random flashes of fire a while ago, refusing to have such an undignified habit.

 _Good luck, Eragon!_ Thorn wished cheerfully.

Eragon nodded and figured no time like the present. He sprinted fast as a horse down to the entrance of Gil'ead. Casting a spell to conceal him from the senses, Eragon bypassed the guards and made for the prison. With a single unassisted leap, Eragon jumped to the top of the wall surrounding the prison. Descending into the depths of the prison, absorbing information by lightly tapping the minds of the guards, Eragon made for Arya's cell. He magically picked the lock, and opened the door.

The sight of Arya, the woman he loved, hanging in despair and dread from chains on the wall inflamed Eragon. He had the mad idea to tear the prison apart brick by brick until he found Durza and made him pay a thousand times over for every drop of Arya's spilled blood.

Arya looked up, blearily. Cancelling the concealment spell, Naruto touched his first two fingers to his lips and whispered _"I am a Rider and a friend."_

She hung her head, dismissing him as an illusion of her pain. Eragon quickly and quietly broke the chains holding her and gathered her in his arms. Ignoring how good she felt there, Eragon whispered _"Rest. When you wake, you'll be safe."_

 _"... Thank you,"_ she breathed before passing out unconscious.

Concealing himself, Eragon quickly fetched her sword and bow and other supplies. He was on his way out of the prison when he felt evil energies coalesce into a corporeal form behind him.

Eragon turned to find Durza looking right at him. "How curious. What manner of creature are you?" The blood-haired monster in the shape of a man asked idly.

Reacting instantly, Eragon silently cast a spell to bend the light into a laser that would pierce straight through the Shade. The beam of blue light froze for just a second, caught on a ward before Eragon's and the Eldunari's combined might pushed through to pierce Durza's breast. That split-second of delay proved the Shade's salvation. He managed to move just enough so the laser didn't pierce his heart. Writhing with pain, the possessed sorcerer dissolved into mist.

"Barzûln," Eragon swore. Then, remembering he was carrying precious cargo, Eragon exited the same way he arrived but in reverse, landing like a cat, Arya's weight barely noticeable in his grip.

Fifteen minutes later, Eragon slipped into the campsite.

"How'd it go? You made it back alive, so that's a good start," Murtagh mused.

Eragon grimaced and spared a fraction of his attention to mentally send the memories to the others. His main focus was on Arya. He cast a comprehensive diagnostic spell and hissed. It was as bad as his memories. The most brutal kind of torture, along with administration of Skilna Bragh to ensure she'd die if she escaped. Taking a sip from the wineskin to fortify himself, Eragon mentally brought up all his medical knowledge, including the process of filtering a poison out of individual cells. He then cast a very long, complicated spell that coveted every injury Arya had sustained.

The energy requirement was of no concern between his natural reserves and the Eldunari. The last of the healing magic faded and Arya was, in theory, as good as new. But she remained unconscious.

Eragon whispered into her ear, intimate as a lover. _"Princess Arya, you have been healed. My skills are such that Tunivor's Nectar was unneeded to treat the poison. You are among friends now, and Durza has been temporarily slain. Please, open your eyes."_

His statements had been plain, without room for interpretation. Arya furrowed a brow and opened her eyes.

Eragon spared just a moment to reflect how beautiful she was like this, fresh from sleep. Then he reminded himself of their position and backed away. She slowly sat up, surveying the surroundings quickly. Her jaw dropped at the dragons.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Eragon, Rider of Saphira. Behind me are Murtagh, Rider of Thorn, and Brom. You might recognize him," Eragon said slowly, as if addressing a spooked animal.

Arya sat up with all her regal bearing. "Brom-elda. It is good to see you. I see that not only did the egg reach you, we were even fortunate for it to hatch." She turned to eye Thorn. "But fortune must truly have smiled on us, to have stolen another egg and for it to hatch as well."

Brom huffed. "I'd love to take all the credit, but most of the merit belongs to my son Eragon. It was his idea to steal the other two eggs, and to do so with an ingenious method that bypassed the wards. We have the third egg as well. I suppose that's the one you'll be ferrying from now on."

Arya blinked. She turned to see Gil'ead in the distance. "Were we not still in the heart of Galbatorix's lands, I would deem this a true moment to celebrate. As it is, I won't feel truly safe until we're all either in the tunnels of the Beors or the forests of Du Weldenvarden."

"An excellent idea. We should get moving immediately," Eragon asserted. "Durza will reform fast, and then he'll come after us with the full weight of the army behind him."

Murtagh sighed. "Guess we're sleeping in the saddle."

Eragon led Holcomb over to Arya. "You can use my horse," he offered.

Arya frowned severely. "I'm not some helpless human woman," she said cold as ice.

"I didn't say you were. But you have endured daily torture at the hands of a sadist for as long as Saphira's been alive. I thought you might prefer to ride than run. It's up to you, makes no difference to me."

She looked taken aback. "My apologies for my rude words. I'm just used to such biased thinking from humans."

Eragon shrugged. "Well, I'm not fully human anymore. So is it the saddle or your sandals?"

Arya considered it and then took the reins. She hopped gracefully into the saddle, Eragon helpfully adjusting the stirrups for her much reduced height. Arya ran a hand over Holcomb's mane. "He is a very healthy specimen, beloved. You must take good care of him."

"I treasure all that I consider mine," Eragon said, perhaps a bit too heavily for the conversation. Shaking his head, Eragon jogged to catch up with Brom and Murtagh, as Thorn and Saphira leapt into the air.


	9. Chapter 9

By morning's light, they'd put over ten leagues between them and Gil'ead. Eragon easily kept pace on his own legs with the steeds. Arya had been quiet all night, and the humans weren't feeling very chatty either.

They stopped to eat and water the horses. Eragon shrugged, knowing he could maintain this pace for days without rest. He felt a bit bored, though, and he wanted a physical challenge to spice things up.

"Murtagh, may I borrow Zar'roc?" Eragon asked his older brother.

The young Rider looked up from dozing in Tornac's saddle, and nodded his assent. Eragon took the red-tinged blade and turned to Arya. " _Fancy a spar, Arya-svitkona?"_ Eragon asked in her native tongue, falling back on his habit as Father of Riders of speaking to each species in their first language.

Arya considered him. _"Very well. Let us see how thorough your healing was,"_ she mused. She grabbed her own elvish steel and dulled the edges as Eragon did the same with Zar'roc. Getting into their stances, accounting for the fact Arya was left-handed, Eragon decided faint heart never won fair lady and lunged first.

This began a deadly dance as two superhuman creatures that both had decades of relative fighting experience faced off. Eragon spared nothing, knowing she would only perceive it as an insult. The sexism of Men and Dwarves must have grown wearying over the decades for the princess who'd renounced her title. They exchanged blows back and forth, neither landing a decisive blow, until Eragon saw an opening and knocked Arya's blade aside to bring his blade up to her throat.

It was only then that Eragon realized he was sweating buckets. The exchange must have lasted much longer than he thought. Arya too was soaked, and she gulped for air. Her eyes held newfound respect and perhaps even a trace of admiration. She nodded. _"You are skilled, Eragon-finiarel."_

 _"As are you, Arya-svitkona."_

She tilted her head, a faint look of confusion on her features. _"You seem much more skilled than anyone your age should be. And you're already fully transitioned into a Rider, though one unlike any I've heard of. What makes you different?"_

Eragon could have easily panicked, but he didn't. If there was one person he could never hide anything from, it was Arya. _"If I said, in this language, that I have memories of a future that no longer exists, would you believe me?"_

Arya furrowed her brows. _"I would believe you were either mad and believed what you were saying, or that your mind indeed possessed knowledge from another time. And I don't believe you to be mad. How many memories?"_

 _"A thousand years, or thereabouts,"_ Eragon answered readily. _"I've already won this war. Now I'm forced to fight it again. If it is my Fate to endure everything a second time, I'm determined to take full advantage of my memories of the future past. Among them centuries of swordplay."_

Arya nodded, taking this in her stride. _"How odd it must be for you, to have such an old mind in such a young body."_

Eragon shrugged. _"I've adapted. And this new body I received is very suitable for my needs."_

"There's food here, if you people still enjoy that sort of thing," Murtagh spoke up from the fire. "I seriously need to learn how to speak the Ancient Language as smooth as that? They make it sound like poetry and I don't even understand half the words."

"Fluency can be achieved in a few short months of intensive effort. Speaking like an Elf can take decades," Brom informed his second student.

Eragon and Arya took spots by the fire, eating the simple stew that, per Arya's dietary preferences, had no meat. When the four of them had finished, they remounted and took off east toward the Hadarac Desert.

The week it took to reach the Ramr River, the unofficial eastern border of the Empire, passed fretfully. Eragon left Murtagh to be trained by Brom wherever their busy schedules allowed, happily spending his time conversing with Arya. He found himself falling for her all over again, not just her beauty but her inner radiance and iron will. Part of him knew this wouldn't be healthy in the long run, holding a torch for a woman who at best only saw him as a friend and a Rider. Saphira was no help, making suggestive or flirty comments to Arya to try and set Eragon up. She found his awkward love for the elvish princess delightfully amusing.

They crossed the Ramr River, an ordeal that involved all but sedating the horses and Saphira ferrying the beasts across. Eragon elected to swim while allowing Arya and Brom to ride Saphira over while Murtagh took Thorn. Eragon funneled the irrational jealousy he felt at his father getting to share a saddle with Arya into his swimming. Eragon actually ended up beating the dragons to the other side.

Once they were out of the Empire proper and on the dry edges of the Hadarac, Arya paused. "We are outside Galbatorix's reach. May I now see the third egg?"

Eragon summoned the green egg from the space-fold. They'd informed Arya about the Eldunari. She took the information stoically and said it was a good thing that the Riders had such a resource to match Galbatorix. She had personally conversed with Umaroth, and seemed humbled by the experience.

Eragon handed the egg to Arya, waiting patiently.

Arya regarded the egg, before a curious light filled her eyes. "What…" she breathed, before the egg split open much as Thorn's had in Murtagh's grip. A green head stuck out, regarding the woman holding his shell with bright curiosity. Arya brought up her palm in a daze, and the dragon pressed his nose to her skin. She shuddered but didn't pass out at the rush of magic that accompanied the forming of the gedwëy ignasia and her bond with _her_ dragon.

Eragon smiled at Arya as she regained her senses as her dragon crawled out of the wreckage of his egg. _"Congratulations, Dragon Rider Arya,"_ Eragon said formally.

She turned to him, an accusatory tilt to her eyebrows. _"You knew."_

 _"He hatched for you in the future I remember, I saw no reason it wouldn't happen again. Any ideas for names?"_

Arya looked down at the dragon curled contently in her arms. _"Firnen. His name is Firnen."_ Arya laughed out loud, a sound Eragon hadn't expected to hear outside the halls of Ellesmera. _"Imagine if we'd stolen his egg instead of Saphira's! I'd have been a Rider for decades at this point!"_

 _"Well, at least you're becoming one now and not in the aftermath of the war,"_ Eragon said thoughtfully.

Brom coughed, drawing the two's attention. "Welcome to the club, Arya. I have nothing to teach you that you can't learn from Eragon or back in Ellesmera. Raise your dragon with care, and guard him closely. You'll find that life without him is hardly worth living."

Arya nodded, keeping a protective grip on the freshly-hatched Firnen.

Murtagh, who'd been read into the foreknowledge secret giving how often Arya and Eragon discussed it, gave a small whoop. "That makes Galbatorix: 1, the Varden: 3! And since Eragon and Saphira decided to cheat with magic, they're already fully prepped for combat. And Arya is already an accomplished warrior and magician. That leaves me and Thorn with a lot of catching up to do!"

Brom patted Murtagh on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll have you in good enough shape for the instructor waiting in Ellesmera to handle you. It's really only magic you need to work on, and that will only awaken itself with time. Other than that and Thorn reaching maturity, there's nothing we can do."

Eragon looked up at the sun and the circling forms of Saphira and Thorn. "Break's over. We need to get to Tronjheim fast and warn them about the Urgal invasion. If _only_ I'd stopped to remove that ward from Durza before attacking!"

"No use crying over spilled ink, son. Now let us ride as if lives depended on our speed, because I'm afraid they do." Brom led the charge as they made for the Desert, orienting with the sun to get the right angle to cut through the southwestern quadrant of the massive wasteland.

Eragon showed them all his trick of drawing up reservoir water into a pit when they stopped for the night. The horses quaffed gallons, and Thorn and Saphira weren't much better. Once they'd all quenched their thirst, Eragon took a moment to scry Tronjheim. The city-mountain was still there, and that was good enough for Eragon at the moment.

They rode until long after nightfall, only taking a break so the horses wouldn't collapse from exhaustion. Eragon was laying his sleeping pallet when he felt a gentle probe to his mind. He turned and saw Arya crouched at the edge of camp. Indicating he should follow her, she walked up and over a dune. Shrugging, curious, Eragon followed his secret love.

Or perhaps not so secret. When Arya got him alone, she pierced him with a carefully neutral look. _"What were we to each other, in this future that you came from?"_ She asked in the language it was impossible to directly lie in.

Eragon sighed and braced himself for heartache. _"You were the first and only woman I ever loved. At first you saw me as just a child, and the lone free Rider besides. Romance was a distraction Alagaësia couldn't afford. Overtime, you came to see me for the man I became. But by then, it was too late. I'd already made the decision to move the base of the Riders outside the continent. We shared True Names and parted ways. We never even kissed, but I never got over you."_ Eragon poured his heart out honestly.

Arya seemed to consider his words with infinite patience. _"And what now, Eragon-elda? Do you look at me and see the child now, a mere century to your millennium?"_

Eragon sighed and put it all out there. _"From now until the day I pass into the void, you shall own my heart. Keep it, reject it, break it like a toy. It is yours to do with as you please."_ Eragon felt the binding truth of the vow deep in his soul.

Arya looked taken aback at the declaration of love, especially made in the Ancient Language. She seemed to consider her next words with great care. _"I cannot promise anything, because I do not know you the way you know me. A war is indeed no place for a budding romance. And I very recently lost a… dear friend. But if we're both still breathing when this coming war comes to an end… I will consider giving this a try. I owe you my life already, I shall see if I can give you my heart in exchange for yours."_

Eragon hardly dared to believe his luck. It was a chance. Not a guarantee, but still more than he'd ever expected. _"Then I shall do my utmost to ensure we both make it to the other side of this coming war."_

Nodding, Arya glided past him back to camp as if the conversation had never happened. Eragon trudged down to lean against Saphira's side.

"To possibility," Eragon muttered to himself before shifting to his waking slumber.

* * *

Eragon and the band of young Riders entered the valley that hid the entrance to Tronjheim like devils were at their heels. And they almost were, if you counted Kull as demons.

It had taken a mere two days of hard riding to cross the bottom of the Hadarac and make it to the foothills of the Beors. Just as they found cause to celebrate, the party saw a line of Urgals far as the eye could see on the horizon. And Saphira was hard to miss from a distance.

What followed was a panicked cycle of hard riding and dozing in the saddle while the others led. They needed to reach the Varden and they had to do it yesterday. They covered leagues like Holcomb, Snowfire, and Tornac had grown wings or the Eldunari had cast some kind of acceleration spell.

There'd been a brief incident when a band of slavers tried to hassle them, but Eragon was a much harder man than the boy who'd let them all escape in another life. He snuffed them with one of the twelve death words and was done with it.

Day and night ceased to have any meaning. time slipping inexorably past. And with every league they covered, the Urgals seemed to come a mile closer. It wasn't a question of if they would be caught. It was a question of whether they'd be within reach of the Varden's soldiers when they were.

Deciding to try and buy them some time, Eragon cast a spell to raise a dense fog in their wake, to try and blind the Kull and Urgals hot on their heels. He left the Eldunari to sustain it and focused on running smoothly over the brambles and undergrowth of the valley's forest.

Saphira and Thorn flew directly overhead, the time for subtlety long past. If he weren't so reluctant to part ways with the steeds, Naruto would have suggested they all load up on the dragons and make for the hidden tunnel entrance by wing rather than foot. But he'd invested months of time into strengthening Holcomb and Snowfire, and Eragon knew Murtagh was just as sentimental over Tornac. They would reach the Varden together or not at all.

Arya clutched Firnen to her breast as she led them, having used this avenue of entrance many times over the years. Murtagh eyed the unscalable mountainsides and the fog behind them. "Guess it's too late to back out, huh?"

"Afraid so," Brom huffed. While greatly restored by Eragon's healing magic, he was still no spring chicken. "Not exactly a proper welcoming present, is it, a horde of Urgals on our heels?"

"We can help the fight once we have the reinforcements, what matters is reaching the door in time," Arya snapped.

They reached a lake with a waterfall. Leading them on the proper side of the lake to the right clifface. Eragon, sticking to ceremony, picked up a rock and banged it on the wall. _"A warden of the Riders lacks passage,"_ he shouted.

In an instant, an invisible seam opened and a contingent of Men and Dwarves appeared standing in a tunnel. To Eragon's horror, the Twins were present.

Acting without thinking, Eragon grabbed both the bald men by their necks and held them up against the wall. "What are you traitors still doing alive? _Speak truth!"_ Eragon cast.

A dull look came to the pair's eyes. "Traitors? We are not traitors," one said tonelessly.

"For we cannot betray those we never truly loved." His brother finished.

Deciding he'd live with the consequences, Eragon snapped both their necks like twigs.

The Varden contingent seemed shocked, though one of the dwarfs had a near manic grin. "Oh, it pleased me to witness that. I'll let Ajihad know the tip was genuine, given how strong your reaction was."

Eragon shrugged. "Whatever. So are we being escorted to Tronjheim or shall we spend a few hours spilling Urgal blood?"

The dwarf, who seemed to be the senior officer, shook his head. "Aye, that would be a pleasant way to get to know each other. But I have my orders. The Dragon Riders and Brom are to be brought to Ajihad with haste. Our forces can handle things here."

Eragon nodded and turned to make sure everyone had entered the tunnel. Saphira had to all but crawl, but she fit. Brom saw the dwarf and nodded. "Ah, Orik. Lovely to see you again. I only wish it were under better circumstances."

"Three dragons have just entered a tunnel of mine clan to join the Varden's forces. I can think of few circumstances more fortuitous than that," Orik replied. "Follow us on the horses." With that, he turned and had the Varden and dwarf forces fan out as an honor guard. With military discipline, they began to march down the tunnel lit by Erisdar, the heatless lanterns the Elves had gifted to the Dwarves millennia ago.

They walked through most of the night, a runner coming every now and then to collect a progress report and then run back where he came from. They paused to sup on bread and strong beer from a skin, the weary travelers all enjoying the nourishment. The dragons subsited on meat Eragon found buried in the saddlebags. Barely a snack for even Thorn, let alone Saphira.

They reached a change in the tunnel, where things started to get much more ornate. Eragon turned to Orik, who'd kept up a helpfully distracting line of conversation the whole walk. _"Our Father and Tronjheim are ahead of us, yes?"_ Eragon asked in flawless Dwarvish.

Otik jumped. _"You speak Dwarf?"_

 _"I speak every language in Alagaësia,"_ Eragon said honestly, not mentioning he'd also dabbled in some of the tongues from other continents.

 _"Impressive. Yes, Our Father and the city-mountain lie before us. If possible, could you mount your dragon, and have the boy do the same with his? Arya can't really ride her dragon yet. And do your best to look… inspiring."_ Otik instructed in the language of the people of stone.

Eragon shrugged and hopped into Saphira's saddle, his head almost brushing the ceiling. "Murtagh, switch from Tornac to Thorn. And try to think heroic thoughts, you're the new symbol of a free Alagaësia now."

Murtagh shrugged. "Warriors, magicians, celebrities, eh? The multifaceted life of a Dragon Rider." Nonetheless, he transferred from his steed to his dragon. Arya, sensing the point of what was coming, arranged Firnen on her shoulders, where he gleamed like a jeweled scarf. Brom willingly shuffled to the back of the party, keeping a hold of the reins for the horses.

Then they passed a few jeweled columns and statues and they entered the hollow mountain.

As with everything involving the Dwarves, the sense of scale had to be appreciated. The far side of the massive crater they found themselves in was a good ten miles away. In the center, a tower that looked small only in comparison to its surroundings jutted proudly into the air, looking like a half-melted candle of marble. And at the gates to the inside of the tower, the entire civilian population of the Varden seemed to have assembled. Men, women, children, all stared up at them.

Then Saphira let out a jubilant, rallying roar. The whole of Farthen Dûr seemed to echo with the sound. When ears stopped ringing, the applause started.

Eragon led his brother and sister-in-arms down the path to Tronjheim. He made sure to wave and smile to the crowd. He was sure his unusual appearance caused more than a few pause, but on Saphira's back he could be forgiven for looking odd. He was Eragon, Rider of Saphira, and he was a hero to these desperate people.

Their honor guard led them into Tronjheim, and they entered the central chamber. High above them, Isidar Mithrim, the Star Sapphire and the single largest gemstone in all of Dwarf culture, twinkled with a rosy light. Orik led the Riders down a side tunnel, Saphira again straining to fit, until they reached a door. With a swift knock and a heard "Enter,", Orik led them inside.

Eragon, Murtagh, Arya, Brom, and the dragons found themselves in a handsomely appointed two-story study. Seated behind an oaken desk was a man with the ebony skin of the Wandering Tribes. He carried an undeniable air of authority.

"Welcome to the newcomers. And to those I've already met, welcome back. I'm sure you all have quite the tale to tell. But allow me to introduce myself. I am Ajihad, sworn leader of the Varden."

Eragon bowed. "Eragon Bromson. No, my mother was not an Urgal."

Murtagh set his shoulders. "A son does not choose his father. I am Murtagh, son of Morzan, and I guarantee I hated him as much as you did."

Arya touched two fingers to her lips. "Ajihad. A pleasure to meet you again."

Brom shouldered his way past the dragons. "Ajihad, good to see you. Two questions: where's my ring and why were those blasted twins waiting for us at the entrance?"

Ajihad chuckled and reached into a drawer, pulling out Aren and holding it out for Brom to reclaim. "As straight to the point as always. Very well. I took your tip very seriously, and covertly launched an investigation. It turned up damning scraps but nothing conclusive. Then it occured to me that if you or your son were to see the Twins still alive, you just might… solve the problem your own way."

Otik chuckled while Eragon scratched his cheek. "I had them confess before snapping their necks. Orik can witness that."

Orik nodded. "It's true. They confessed just before the end."

"Then you have my thanks, Eragon, for solving a very thorny problem. The Twins had insinuated themselves deeply into the Varden's inner workings. Having them condemned would have been a political nightmare. Luckily, as a Rider, you have a certain amount of… leniency with the common folk. I'm not saying you can get away with murder, we can't afford another Galbatorix, but you can act with some small amount of impunity. That goes for all three of you."

"Now," Ajihad said, clapping. "I would very much like to hear the train of circumstances that led to three Dragon Riders before me. Please, spare no details."

Eragon mentally coordinated with his friends and then launched into a condensed tale of their adventures since Saphira had hatched. He kept the foreknowledge and Word a secret, but revealed the secret of the Eldunari and the power advantage they provided.

When he'd finished, Eragon went for a sip from the waterskin. Ajihad nodded and seemed to consider everything he'd heard for a second. "A truly fantastical tale. And yet it matches all the reports I've gotten over the past few months."

Eragon sighed and decided to drop the bad news. "I'm afraid there's something more recent to focus on. I read the minds of the Urgals following us. Galbatorix uncovered a tunnel entrance on the Western border of the Beors. They're planning to invade from underneath your feet. We may have less than a week before Tronjheim becomes a battleground."

Ajihad cursed and banged a fist on his desk. "Damn, that could have wiped us out with no warning. It's a very good thing you were listening, though I can't imagine they were thinking this in Common."

"I speak Urgal," Eragon said simply.

Ajihad nodded. "A surprisingly useful skill, I'm sure. You've given me a lot to think about. I was going to dismiss you for the day anyway. Consider Orik your tour guide. Simply ask and he'll provide insofar as my authority will allow. Eragon, Murtagh, Arya, you are all of course entitled to the Rider's quarters above Isidar Mithrim. Brom, we've kept your old rooms dusted. Your horses will be stabled with our very best, and of course Saphira, Thorn, and Firnen have as much freedom as you do. Relax for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, we'll have to assess Eragon and Murtagh for skill in magic and combat. Arya's skills are already well-known to us. The sooner I understand what you're capable of, the better I can use you. But that's for tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of the day, relax. You've covered more leagues in a week than some do their whole lives. The work begins tomorrow."

They nodded and bowed, before turning to take their leave, Orik a faithful shadow to them. He escorted them out to the open air outside Tronjheim, where Saphira and Thorn took off for the summit of the city-mountain. Firnen stuck on Arya's shoulder.

"How may I serve you first?" Orik asked.

Hearing a gurgle come from his stomach, Eragon said "A proper meal, to start. Then I feel like a bath. New clothes would be appreciated but not necessary. Then I think we'll go up to the dragon quarters and entertain ourselves up there."

Orik nodded, clapping. "Very well. Let us find the cooks and demand meat and bread from them!"

Eragon kept up a steady stream of dialogue with Orik in his native tongue, leaving Arya and Murtagh to bond for once. They went to the kitchens and were handed bowls of stew and fresh-baked bread with a small jar of honey. Arya picked out the chunks of meat and handed them to Firnen. _"Why do you eat meat?"_ She asked Eragon after he'd finished telling Orik something about growing up on a farm.

Switching mental gears and languages, Eragon replied _"I understand the Elvish avoidance of all meat, truly I do. But I enjoy the taste too much. It's the natural cycle, for the predator to eat prey. I choose to exercise my right to eat meat. If you can't agree with that, I ask that you at least respect it."_

Arya nodded, a contemplative look in her eye. Once she was sure all the meat was fished out of her stew, she scarfed it down along with her portion of the bread.

After that, Orik led them to a particular tunnel filled with doors. "The bathing pools are inside. Leave your clothes outside and fresh ones will be delivered."

Nodding, Eragon, Murtagh, and Arya all entered their own bath. They spent a good half-hour just luxuriating in the warm salty water, washing away the sweat and grime of the road. They all emerged at around the same time, Arya in gear clearly fetched from her rooms in Tronjheim and the men from whatever stock was available of high quality and in their size. Eragon wore a shirt that was probably sized for a man like Fredric, the Varden's bear of a weapons master. And it was actually a little tight. The Eldunari had really given him a big body.

Orik found them and led them back outdoors. A small crowd was forming at the sight of the Dragon Riders, and without Saphira and Thorn to intimidate, the odds of being accosted were high.

The dragons landed. Eragon jumped into the saddle and leaned forward so Arya could slide in behind him. Before they could take off, an old crone broke through the line and grabbed his ankle.

Eragon recognized her even without a memory spell. Which meant the babe in her arms could only be Elva. His greatest shame.

"They told me to take care of her," the woman hissed. "But I'm old and weak. Bless her, Argetlam. Bless her for luck!"

Eragon reached down and laid the gedwëy ignasia on the baby girl's brow. _"May good fortune rule over you, peace live in your heart, and the stars watch over you,"_ he intoned solemnly, not mispronouncing a single word. Feeling the energy of the blessing leave him like a spell, Eragon nodded. "If any words can help her, it's those."

The crone nodded, looking like a great weight had been taken off her. Just as she was about to recover the babe, Saphira turned her head to look down at the girl. Touching her snout to the babe's brow, there was a flash of magic and when Saphira withdrew, the silvery mark of a gedwëy ignasia covered her forehead.

With that, Saphira and Thorn both took off.


	10. Chapter 10

The five of them landed on the top of Isidar Mithrim, which proved remarkably resilient to dragon claws and scratching.

Arya turned to regard Eragon and Saphira after exiting the saddle. "What did you two do to that childe?"

Saphira blinked. _Eragon showed her the path. I gave her the strength to follow it. The rest is up to her._

Eragon nodded. "Just be grateful I'm so fluent in the Ancient Language. Last time I mangled a conjugation and ended up cursing her. She was forced to know the pain of everyone for a mile around her and felt compelled to save them. It nearly drove her mad. And forced her to grow unnaturally fast. She went from a babe to a five-year-old within a few months."

Arya shuddered. "The danger of a misworded spell. Intent can only make up for meaning so far."

Murtagh stopped admiring the giant hunk of priceless rock that formed the floor of the Rider quarters. "So! How do you want to pass our one free day for the foreseeable future?"

With a grin, Eragon summoned a wineskin he'd tucked in the space-fold. "Drinking games?"

Arya seemed hesitant but Murtagh was all onboard. Eragon sat them all down and explained the rules of the game he had in mind. "It's a guessing game. You guess a fact about one of the other players. If you're right, they drink. If you're wrong, you drink. Sound simple enough?"

The other two nodded, the dragons arranging themselves to watch this fresh entertainment. Eragon settled on Arya. "You killed your first Urgal before you were twenty."

Arya obediently took a swig from the wineskin. Murtagh went next. He seemed to think hard before turning to Eragon. "You learned how sex works by breeding farm animals as a kid."

Blushing profusely, Eragon drank.

Arya turned to Murtagh. "You had an imaginary friend as a child," she stated with confidence.

Murtagh nodded and drank.

They passed an hour like that, until the wineskin was empty. All three were delightfully buzzed and giggling. Murtagh for whatever reason thought it would be a good idea to challenge the heavier, taller Eragon to a wrestling match. Eragon enjoyed the physical struggle of pinning his brother repeatedly. Arya found the whole thing hilarious, if her peals of laughter were anything to go by.

The three ended up sprawled on the floor, looking up at the pale blue sky visible above Farthen Dûr. "What happens after the battle?" Murtagh asked quietly.

Eragon considered both logically and using his foreknowledge. "The three of us head to the Elvish capital of Ellesmera so you two can finish your training as Dragon Riders. I have business there as well. Then we return to the Varden as soon as the war starts. And then we… win a war."

Arya sighed. "I've lived the past twenty years almost identically, ferrying Saphira from the Varden to Du Weldenvarden and back. Now things are going to start _happening_ so fast. Within two years, this could all be over."

Eragon nodded. "And then we rebuild the Dragon Riders with the eggs from the Vault of Souls."

Murtagh sighed. "Describe Ristvak'skul," he asked dreamily.

Eragon spent the hours until dinner painting pictures with words, describing the wonders of the Rider city. When they'd sobered up a little, Saphira and Thorn transported them down to ground level. The whole of Tronjheim seemed to be buzzing with news of Eragon and Saphira's blessing. Eragon heard that Elva was slated to be either the next Queen or a great magician, perhaps even a hero in the coming war. The last was just ridiculous. The war would likely be over while she was still in swaddling clothes. Arya led them by memory to the kitchens and they had a quick dinner before retreating back to the roof of the city-mountain. They all picked their own cave and settled down to sleep, exhausted after the last week they'd had.

Eragon woke when he sensed a human female enter the Rider's quarters. With a quick scan, Eragon realized it was Nasuada. Mentally nudging Murtagh and Arya awake, the three Riders emerged from their cave beds with their dragons.

Nasuada had all her father's strength and was also possessed of a youthful vigor and certain girlish softness. She was striking in a dress and her hair bound in braids. She bore a tray bearing three different meals. "Greetings, honored Riders. I am Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad. I volunteered to bring you breakfast and remind you that you're required at the training grounds at your earliest convenience."

Arya sighed and smiled gently. Firnen really brought out her soft side. "Nasuada, I've known you all your life. Dispense with the formalities."

Nasuada grinned. "You're the one who taught me that courtesy was the highest value."

Eragon knocked Murtagh with his elbow; the boy had not stopped gaping at Nasuada since he'd gotten a good look at her. Recovering himself, Murtagh bowed as low as he would for the Queen. "Pleasure to meet you, Nasuada. I'm Murtagh, Rider of Thorn."

Nasuada nodded politely at the man just a little older than her. "Pleasure to meet you, Murtagh. For what it's worth, you are not your father. So long as you don't become him, I see no reason you can't be accepted with open arms."

Murtagh nodded dumbly, as if she'd sung what she'd said in a voice of golden chimes. Ah, the first stirrings of love were something to behold. Given that he wasn't on the receiving end this time around, Eragon found it endlessly entertaining. "And I'm Eragon, son of Brom."

Nasuada nodded and tilted her head. "If you don't mind my asking, Eragon, you certainly have a… unique appearance. Why is that?"

"I used magic to mold my body to more accurately reflect the five races of Alagaësia. The skin is where I pay tribute to the Urgals," Eragon explained.

Nasuada nodded. "What a splendid idea. Well, I've brought you your breakfast and delivered my message. My duty is complete." Placing the tray on the floor, she curtseyed to the three of them and their dragons, before making for the staircase that led down into the winding innards of Tronjheim.

Eragon rolled his eyes. "She carried a heavy tray up all those steps of her own accord? This is either a move by Ajihad or Nasuada herself _,"_ he stated.

"She _is_ getting the right age to start playing at Varden politics," Arya mused, sitting and taking her vegetarian meal and a plate of cubed meat for Firnen.

Murtagh blinked. "Did we meet the same woman?" He asked dazedly.

"Depends. I met Ajihad's daughter. You looked like you'd met the goddess of love and beauty," Eragon said in a teasing tone. What were little siblings for if not annoying their elder siblings?

Murtagh sighed dreamily. "Such carriage, such exotic grace. She was like a queen among swine with us."

Eragon sighed. "You might have a chance, in a political marriage if nothing else. But that comes after we kill Galbatorix. Now eat up. You get to be beaten to a pulp in a duel while I have to show my magic prowess before fighting Arya."

"And I'm sure that's _such_ a burden to your mind," Murtagh fired back in retaliation for the Nasuada teasing.

"That is neither here nor there," Eragon waved off.

Once they were all fed, the dragons served hunks of meat that teams of dwarves brought up shortly after Nasuada departed, they mounted up. Arya guided them down to the training grounds, on the other side of Tronjheim from where they'd entered Farthen Dûr. Saphira shook the ground when she landed, and so did Thorn to a lesser extent. The soldiers of the Varden and dwarves looked up from their drilling for a moment before resuming. Eragon and Arya hopped to the ground without fear of the height while Murtagh dismounted Thorn, who was still roughly the same size as a large horse.

A giant of a man Eragon recognized from his memories approached them, wearing a big stinking oxhide. "Was told to expect you. I'm Fredric, weapons master of the Varden. I'm to see what Murtagh has got."

Murtagh nodded and drew Zar'roc. "Do we just have Eragon dull our blades and go at it? I'm eager to prove my worth."

Fredric shuddered. "Never was comfortable with magic. If you don't have the control to stop a deadly attack before it hits, you shouldn't be waving that sword around to begin with. Now prepare yourself, young pup!" Fredric drew his broadsword that was almost as big as Murtagh himself.

Eragon, Arya, and the dragons watched impassively as Murtagh and Fredric dueled with live steel. Murtagh managed to maintain passable control of his blade even as he fought back a master at his craft as best he could. The duel ended with Murtagh getting a lucky opening and bringing the tip of Zar'roc to rest over Fredric's heart.

Fredric rose a brow and clapped after sheathing his massive blade. "Very good! Whoever trained you knew what he was doing. I've got nothing to teach you. I'll report as much to Ajihad." Turning to the other Dragon Riders, Fredric rubbed his chin. "This, I'll need to see for myself. Unless you can tell me right now, Arya, that he's not in your league."

Arya nodded and drew her sword and began to dull it with magic. Eragon held out a hand for Zar'roc and did the same. The two cleared their own space.

And then they began to dance.

Arya and Eragon had two distinct styles, but both favored efficiency over everything. Neither committed to a big, dramatic stroke to end the battle. Both were patient and waited through dozens of blows for that one opening to seize that could turn the tide of the duel. It was almost like they were having a conversation as their blades crossed again and again.

It ended with Eragon managing to take advantage of his longer reach to disarm Arya and hold the edge of Zar'roc to her throat. They were close enough their breaths mingled, and Eragon almost got drunk on the scent of pine sap. Blinking, Eragon withdrew and became aware of thunderous applause.

The whole yard was cheering and whooping at the show the two supernatural fighters had provided. Fredric raved off to the side. Merely removing the magical barrier to the Elvish blade, Eragon handed the red sword back to his brother. The sooner he got to Ellesmera and could forge a new sword from the brightsteel hidden under the Menoa tree, the better for everyone. Eragon was a swordsman, not an archer or pure magic fighter. It felt wrong to go into combat without the weight of a blade at his side.

Brom emerged from the crowd. "Well, I think we can report to Ajihad that you're both competent at swordsmanship. We can test your archery just to be thorough. As for magic, I let him know that you, Eragon, surpassed me while Murtagh has yet to unlock it."

Eragon narrowed his eyes. "You look tired, father. Did you get any sleep?"

"No, as it happens. Once I was done sorting out the mess they'd made of my rooms, I tracked down the little magician's club the Varden has, Du Vrangr Gata. I spent the night convincing those idiots that in the absence of the Twins, I'm the clear successor. We disagreed… long into the night."

Eragon sighed. "Let me guess, a sorceress named Trianna gave you the most trouble."

"Yes, as it happens. Entitled twat, but she's the most powerful of the lot so we need her. Once she realized she wasn't going to argue her way to the leadership position, she put on her bedroom eyes." Brom harrumphed. "Now, really, what kind of man does she take me for?"

"Probably the usual empty-headed stock that think with what's between their legs instead of between their ears she's used to," Eragon joked.

Orik emerged from the crowd. "Mine Uncle requests an audience with you, Eragon Argetlam."

Eragon blinked. "King Hrothgar? Just me or is Saphira invited too?"

Orik hesitated, eyeing the giant sapphire lizard dubiously. "He was not clear."

"Saphira, come. We have an audience with a king," Eragon instructed. "I'll test my archery later. You guys hang out here, I'll come back right after." With that, Eragon gestured Orik to lead him and Saphira.

As they walked through the tunnels beneath Tronjheim, Eragon asked _"Any tips for not souring your uncle's opinion of Dragon Riders any further than Galbatorix already managed?"_

Orik considered it as his stout legs ate up the distance. _"Keep your sentences short and to the point. He can't stand all the verbal finery inherent to political talk. Speak to him man to man, and you should do fine. And I highly recommend Saphira not break anything."_

Then they were at the doors to the Dwarf Throne Room. The king's guard slammed their pollocks on the ground, and the door opened silently on perfectly-oiled hinges.

Eragon and Saphira entered the heart of Dwarvish power in Alagaësia. Lining the path to the throne were two rows of thrones, most of them filled with a shockingly life-like semblance of a Dwarvish king of past. Saphira dutifully watched her step and tail.

Eragon and Saphira soon reached the throne, on which sat Hrothgar. Wearing the mixed finery and armor of a dwarf royal, the ancient warhammer Volund laid across his lap, the dwarf seemed ancient even by the standards of his race. Still, he carried himself with quiet dignity and the strength of one half his apparent age.

 _"I am told you speak mine language,"_ Hrothgar said gruffly.

Eragon bowed respectfully and nodded. _"As can Saphira. She's as much part of this conversation as you or me."_

 _"Is that so?"_ Hrothgar turned to consider Saphira. _"Tell me, Saphira, what do you think of mine hospitality to your Rider since he arrived?"_

Saphira answered a bit stiffly but fluently directly into Hrothgar's mind. _"Both you and Ajihad have been the kindest hosts we've ever enjoyed the care of. I am most grateful both for myself and on behalf of the aid given my Rider."_

Hrothgar chuckled. _"To think my kind consider you to be naught but dumb animals. Here is a dragon taken the time to learn Dwarvish. This is truly an age of miracles."_

Hrothgar turned to regard Eragon. _"Do you know why I requested to see you, not Morzanson or the elf?"_

Eragon shook his head no.

 _"Because based on all accounts I've received from my agents, you're the one who carried the leadership of the new Riders. Why is that, and not Arya or even the old man Brom?"_

Eragon considered his options and settled on blind honesty. _"There was a magical accident involving time. I either woke up a thousand years in the past or woke up with a thousand years of memories from the future. In either case, Arya and my father defer to my authority because, whatever my technical age, I am still the Father of Riders."_

Hrothgar rose a brow. _"Interesting… Assuming you aren't mad. Tell me, did Galbatorix die in this potential future?"_

 _"Yes. And with all the preparation we've done, killing him in this time should prove almost easy,"_ Eragon said solemnly.

Hrothgar broke out laughing. _"Easy, he says. I like you, Eragon Timeless. We need that kind of guts. Hot red blood, that's what will win this war, not scribbles of ink on treaties and war movements. You are dismissed. Give mine regards to my nephew."_

 _"Of course, King Hrothgar,"_ Eragon agreed. Turning, he and Saphira left the royal chamber.

* * *

Eragon jerked awake when he felt a panicked human enter the Rider quarters. Rousing his fellows with mental prods, Eragon leapt to the floor of Isidar Mithrim. "Ajihad wants us immediately?" He asked the panicked youth.

The boy nodded up at Eragon's towering height. Eragon reached into his pouch and flicked the boy a crown. "You've done a good job. Now go do the next one you're supposed to do."

Nodding, the boy silently ran for the entrance back to Tronjheim, technically never having spoken. Eragon turned to Arya and Murtagh, who were sleepily walking over. "The Urgals are coming. We're to join Ajihad for the war planning. Get dressed, bring everything, we might not have a chance to come back up here."

Nodding, both returned to their cave beds to grab their weapons. Eragon merely meditated and checked with the Eldunari to ensure Umaroth and the rest were ready to act at a moment's notice.

Saphira and Thorn bore them down and followed them on foot through the tunnels of the Dwarf capital. They reached the door for Ajihad's study and the guards opened it wide.

Ajihad, Brom, Orik, and a man Eragon recognized as Jörmundur, Ajihad's second-in-command for military affairs, were all clustered around a map detailing the Beors and more importantly the tunnels underneath them in great detail.

The men looked up and nodded. "Good, you're here. Your tip proved spot on, Eragon. Hrothgar's scouts found a half-dead dwarf that claimed to see Urgals moving through the tunnels. If his dying words can be believed, the whole of Galbatorix's Urgal army could be here within 48 hours."

Eragon grit his teeth. "Durza is controlling their war chiefs with black magic. If we can manage to kill the damn Shade, the Urgals should act like they're waking from a trance. They'll dissolve into chaos and retreat rather than keep up a pointless fight."

"The trick is getting the damn thing to sit still long enough for one of us to get a good stab through his black heart," Ajihad frowned. He turned to regard his own sword, which bore a scratch from when he'd come close to ending the Shade himself.

"Arya and I are the fastest, we have the best bet. Now it's just making him take the field rather than waiting for his horde of Urgals to drown us," Eragon mused, biting his lip.

It was Arya who came up with the solution. "Use me as bait. He'll come to recapture me, he won't be able to resist."

Eragon fought his every protective instinct and considered Arya's proposition logically. "That could work. But bait how? Kept safe in a tower or out on the front lines?"

"Front lines. He'll try and ambush me when my back is turned. I got _very_ familiar with how he likes to play with his prey," Arya said, the horrors of her months-long torture nowhere to be seen in her eyes. She had either put it behind her or was majorly repressing.

Jörmundur frowned. "Okay, so we set up a trap around Arya for when Durza comes to take her. But there's still the small matter of thousands of Urgals coming for us as we speak."

Murtagh set his shoulders. "This is what we've trained for. We'll handle however many Urgals it takes, even if we have to slaughter every last one before Durza shows his ugly face. We have _three_ Dragon Riders, that should certainly do well for morale."

"Murtagh has a point. So, how will the actual battle be fought?" Brom posed to the table.

Eragon decided to save time and skip to the plan they'd used in his future. "Collapse certain tunnels to funnel the Urgals to key points. Keep an ear out for anyone digging up underneath Tronjheim. Basically hammer our forces against there's until one side breaks. And it won't be us."

Orik nodded. "Eragon speaks sense. But we'll have to carefully coordinate with mine clan's tunnel experts. Collapse too few and the Urgals could emerge where we don't want. Collapse too many and Tronjheim could fall under its own weight. These tunnels are a maze, I can't believe the Urgals learned to navigate them unassisted."

Eragon sneered. "Those drajl Twins are probably to thank for their ease of movement. They must have fed Durza the information before they passed."

Ajihad frowned. "If killing them sooner could have prevented this…"

"Don't go there, commander," Jörmundur siad, laying a hand on Ajihad's shoulder.

They discussed the exact details and distribution of the war materiel, and the evacuation of the women and children. Eragon was of the opinion that if they knew how to fire a bow they should at least have the right to volunteer, but knew such a 'progressive' idea wouldn't fly with a bunch of human men. He could sympathize with the chip on Arya's shoulder. After the egalitarian attitude of the future and the elves, treating a person as weak and inferior just because they didn't have a set of balls seemed ludicrous.

War planning done, they left to rouse the city-mountain and get the armies of Man and Dwarf ready to face a horde of Urgralgra.

Eragon and Arya helped by using magic to collapse key tunnels and speeding up the construction of barricades and spikes aimed at the openings they planned the Urgals to stream out of. Murtagh settled for strapping into the armor Hrothgar and Ajihad had scrounged up for him.

Once Eragon had done everything he could reasonably be expected to do to help, he slid into his own set of armor Orik had given him. He had no idea where the dwarves had found armor scaled for his 7' foot plus frame, but they had. Once he was armored from head to toe, it was time to do the same for Saphira. The dragon armor Hrothgar had found was a bit small for Saphira, but it was better than just her scales against arrows and Urgal arms.

Arya had her own Elvish armor, which she strapped on over her usual leathers. It was decided that Brom would coordinate Du Vrangr Gata from the Rider quarters and keep an eye on the infant Firnen. Though she knew he'd be safe up there, it was clear Arya would prefer her dragon be by her side, even at his current pitiful size.

Then it was just a waiting game. Hurry up and wait, as it were. This was the awkward time when a man could fall asleep standing up in his armor if he weren't careful. Eragon kept himself occupied by reciting memorized poetry to himself or calculating prime numbers. Saphira reiterated lessons in Urgralgra to herself.

Finally, after hours of just stewing, Eragon sensed the first Urgals brush the edge of his senses. "Here they come," he said, a scout soon running out of the tunnel substantiating the news. The hordes of trained men and dwarves readied themselves for an invasion force out of a nightmare.

There was no light but for torches and the fires keeping the pitch hot. So it was shadowy and smokey when the first Urgal emerged from the tunnel and roared a challenge to the Varden.

Eragon got him with his own bow he'd sung from a tree in the Spine after his transformation.

The Urgal ram collapsed from the headshot, only to be swallowed by a teeming contingent of Urgals. At a shouted order, the cauldrons of pitch were upended and set aflame. That kept the Urgals from coming for a few minutes, but fires die down eventually.

Raising his fist as the Urgals drew ever closer to the Varden's infantry, Eragon roared "For Alagaësia!"

"For Alagaësia!" Cheered the battalion of men at the mouth of the tunnel. And then the two sides met and blood began to fly.

Eragon used the words of Death after using the Word to remove their wards. A ring of dead Urgals began to surround him, any ram that he laid eyes on dying with nary a whimper. He longed to fight, even with his bare hands if necessary, but this was more efficient.

Murtagh and Arya were locked in their own conflicts, both handling them as well as could be expected. There was a small explosion and an Urgal corpse went sent smoking away from Murtagh. "So that's how you do magic!" He called out humorously. Them he and Thorn were sucked back into the fray.

Hours passed, the death toll stacking higher and higher. The Men and Dwarves began to wane, exhaustion sapping their power, while the Urgals had endless reinforcements. They had the numbers, it was that simple.

Finally, when the night seemed darkest, that's when Eragon sensed a dark presence appear behind him. He whipped around, his eyes tracking what was happening with adrenaline sharpened eyes.

Durza had appeared directly behind Arya. He had his sword out ready to slice her across the back, much as he'd done to Eragon in another life. At the mere thought of Arya having to endure the Obliterator, Eragon wordlessly cast a spell.

The world seemed to slow, or maybe Eragon was just moving faster. Rushing over, Eragon muttered the Word and disenchanted all Durza's wards. Then, acting decisively, Eragon thrust his hand into Durza's chest. Feeling the lump of pumping flesh in his fingers, Eragon ripped the Shade's heart right out.

Time resumed its normal pace, and Eragon almost collapsed as the sheer cost of slowing down time for a few seconds hit him. Then Durza's skin dissolved until it was clear as glass. The spirits possessing him roiled inside the shell before they burst free and were scattered to the four winds.

Arya turned around in time to see Durza's body explode with Eragon directly between her and the blast. Eragon staggered from the force of the explosion and the exhaustion from his wordless spell to slow time.

"You saved me," Arya mused as she held up Eragon.

"I consider this as making us even," Eragon joked with her.

The Urgals had reversed their charge the moment the spirits of Durza had been freed. The Varden and Dwarven army didn't bother to pursue. The Urgals could find their own damn way out of the Beors.

All told, almost a fifth of the Varden and Dwarf forces died in the Battle of Farthen Dûr. Eragon swore he would help with the clean-up right away. Just as soon as he got some sleep…


	11. Chapter 11

Eragon woke from his healing sleep to see Angela looking down on him. "I do believe you're a little overqualified to be a nurse," Eragon told the witch point-blank. "I forgot you were in Tronjheim."

"I like to be where things are happening. After our fascinating meeting in Teirm, I figured things out with the Varden were about to heat up and packed bags and came to Tronjheim. You might have seen me out in the field if you cared to look. I tend to cut a striking figure."

Eragon nodded. "Well, at least you weren't healing a bisected back this go around."

"Oh, is that what Durza left you with in that other future? This time I think he just left his sword. Arya recovered it from the battlefield. It's Elvish make, and apparently you're in need of a blade."

Eragon nodded. He looked to the side and saw he was in his usual bed in the Rider quarters above Isidar Mithrim. Durza's rapier was indeed lying on the ground, laid with care within reach of Eragon upon waking. The blade would feel like a glorified knife to someone Eragon's size. Still, it was Elvish steel, and that made it priceless as far as he was concerned.

"Where is everyone?" Eragon asked, sitting up and noting Solrmbum in human form crouched in the corner.

"Doing what men do after a bloody battle. It's been less than a day. They tucked you away when you passed out on the battlefield after earning the name Shadeslayer. Very nice touch, by the way, physically ripping out the heart. Makes it rather hard to miss, unlike an arrow or sword, yes?" Angela peered around. "Is Saphira coming? I wanted to ask her a question myself."

Having been in contact with her mind since he fully regained consciousness, Eragon wordlessly let her landing outside the cave speak for itself.

Saphira flapped her wings to clear the dust raised by her landing and poked her head in to stare at Eragon. _Never worry me like that again. I died a thousand deaths when your mind went blank. I feared the worst._

Eragon kissed her nose. "You know I can't make that promise. But I promise to involve you more directly with the next Shade slaying."

Saphira shuttered. _Don't even joke._ Turning to eye Angela, Saphira regarded the witch. _You had a question for me?_

"Yes, Brightscales. I was wondering if you might give me your True Name. I'd prefer to have the full set for Rider and Dragon," Angela asked brightly.

Saphira narrowed her great blue eyes. _If I do, will you reveal the secret of your longevity?_

"I'll give you a hint, at least," Angela allowed.

Saphira rolled her eyes and told Angela her True Name. _Now speak._

Angela seemed to savor the sound of Saphira's Name. "Quite beautiful. Well, fair's fair. I was there when the Ancient Language gained its power. That's all I'll say."

Eragon's mind raced with that piece of information. _The Grey Folk! I thought they were all extinct. They're basically elves that lost their magic. If she was there, she's the oldest living thing in Alagaësia apart from Rheunön._

 _How interesting. I'm more concerned about you. Are you sure you should be standing this soon, little one?_

Eragon rolled his eyes. "One case of magical exhaustion and you turn into a mother hen. I'm perfectly fine. Just spent too much energy too fast, is all. Won't happen again. I'd do it again."

Saphira sighed. _I know. You'd walk unwarded through Dragonfire to protect Arya or save her from harm. Love and insanity seem to have an awful lot in common._

"You'd be surprised how many of my old students agreed with you on that front," Eragon mused. "Now, I want to see Brom, Murtagh, and Arya. Then I need food."

Saphira faithfully let Eragon mount her and she flew out into the battlefield, which was mostly deserted at this hour. Cleanup hadn't started yet so soon after the battle. The runners sent to recall the evacuating civilians likely hadn't even reached their destination yet. Eragon did find Murtagh, Thorn, Arya, and Firnen though, walking through the field of corpses. All four visibly perked up at the sight of Eragon. "Brother!" Murtagh shouted, coming over to wrap his taller yet younger sibling in a hug which Eragon eagerly returned. Murtagh wasn't prone to emotional displays so this brief moment of vulnerability had to be savored. Arya got a beaming smile that nearly struck Eragon dumb at its sheer beauty.

"Thank you again for… saving me. I had no idea Durza was there," Arya said after the brothers finished their embrace.

"He acted just as you predicted. I just happened to be waiting for the moment he appeared while you got lost in the combat," Eragon stated.

"Don't diminish this, Eragon. You're a Shadeslayer now! No matter what else you do, your name is already going down in history." Murtagh reached up on tiptoe to clap his shoulder.

"Yes, well, that's neither here nor there. It's just a name to make me sound more intimidating," Eragon minimized. "So, where's Brom? He wasn't up there when I woke up."

"I believe he's meeting with Ajihad for a post-battle briefing in Ajihad's office," Arya said clearly.

"Sounds important. We should probably join in. Come on!" Eragon made for Tronjheim, ignoring how blood mixed with the dirt to create the worst kind of slippery mud. Everyone who saw the three Dragon Riders bowed and changed direction. Apparently they'd earned an aura of intimidation during the Battle. Eragon led them by rote to Ajihad's office. The guard checked inside and soon let them all in.

Ajihad was still wearing his bloodstained armor, as was Hrothgar, Jörmundur, Orik, with the notable exception of Brom who'd been safe the whole battle while coordinating the Varden's magicians against the Urgal's."Are we interrupting?" Eragon asked facetiously; they wouldn't have been permitted entrance if Ajihad hadn't wanted to see them.

"Not at all, Eragon Shadeslayer. I would have summoned you for this meeting, but I understand your ordeal necessitated you get some immediate rest." Ajihad said with a proud smile on his face. Not one that could beat out Brom's, though. The old Rider looked positively giddy.

"Consider me rested. I heard you were reviewing the order of battle and figured you'd want to know what happened with your Riders and Durza," Eragon said, coming up to the table with Arya and Murtagh flanking him almost unconsciously.

Hrothgar twirled Volund and asked "Then speak, Shadeslayer. Explain how you performed this miracle," the dwarf king said in passable Common though he had an unmistakable accent.

Eragon shrugged and described the hours of fighting one Urgal after another before sensing Durza materializing. "It all came down to a handful of seconds, really. I cast a spell that… either sped me up or slowed everything else down. Then I walked up to the drajl Shade and ripped out his heart."

"Bare-handed?" Jörmundur asked incredulously.

Flexing his bicep, Eragon said "These muscles aren't for show. Yes, I ripped his heart out bare-handed. You all saw what happened afterward. I believe I passed out shortly afterward. I understand the Urgals behaved as I said and retreated."

Ajihad nodded. "Yes. Hrothgar and I were just debating whether to commit the resources to scavenging them from the tunnels. Last thing we need is a Urgal infestation lingering under Tronjheim."

Eragon winced at the word infestation. "Now that Durza isn't controlling them, they'll realize what he was doing. Forcing the clans to work together is unnatural for Urgals. They just might end up sending an envoy to join the war effort in exchange for revenge against Galbatorix."

Ajihad blinked, clearly considering the 'radical' idea. His second-in-command had strong opinions. "Absolutely not! The men would mutiny rather than serve alongside Urgals!"

"The enemy of mine enemy is my friend," Hrothgar mused. "It goes against my teeth, but it might be wise to consider such an offer if it ever comes. The Urgals were a terrifying enemy; imagine them as allies."

Orik and Jormundur both all but stuck out their tongues in revulsion. Ajihad just nodded and moved the meeting back along.

When they were done, Ajihad sighed. "There's nothing like the meal right after a battle. I say we break the casks and celebrate our victory and survival!"

"Hear, hear," Brom called out.

Ajihand led the whole lot of them to the nearest banquet hall, filled with shell-shocked and silent men still in their armor.

"Men! Let us feast! For the Varden has just won over its greatest ordeal to date!" Ajihad called.

Cheers filled the room, and the dead air was soon alive and pulsing. Knowing better than to let the dragons get drunk, Eragon firmly forbid they have more than a taste of the blackberry mead that was rolled in. Thorn didn't like the aftertaste, but Saphira really liked the taste of alcohol. They enjoyed simple but warm food over the drinks, and the night passed in a blur of toasts and willful rejection of the horror waiting in the fields outside.

The next day, nursing hangovers, Eragon and the other Riders helped with the clean-up as much as they could, despite the crews insisting they didn't need to trouble themselves with such menial tasks. The second day, the civilians returned and a sense of life returned to Tronjheim as fathers got to clutch their children and kiss their wives. Ajihad almost had a fit when he discovered Nasuada had stuck behind and disguised herself as an archer. Eragon left that matter to the father and daughter.

On the third day after the Battle of Farthen Dur, Eragon was on high alert. The Twins were dead, and Ajihad had decided to leave the fleeing Urgals unmolested. There was absolutely no reason why Ajihad should die on this day, barring cataclysmic levels of bad luck involving a hidden heart defect or other health condition Eragon was unaware of. Luckily, the day passed like any other after a major battle. Eragon didn't truly relax until he went to bed that night, and even in his dreams he stayed tense until midnight came and went.

Ajihad summoned the Riders to his office on the fifth day. Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh, Thorn, Arya, and Firnen (who was now the size of a large dog) stood arrayed before the leader of the Varden. Ajihad eyed them over, missing nothing.

"You three will soon head for Du Weldenvarden to complete your training. Brom will stay with me to run Du Vrangr Gata. I understand that you can communicate with his mind no matter how far you travel away, allowing us to maintain regular contact, yes?"

"That's true," Eragon stated firmly.

Ajihad rubbed his chin. "Before you leave, I have both a favor and some advice to ask of you."

"Name it," Arya said cooly.

"I ask that you all declare fealty to the Varden. And I ask if you have any advice for when the Varden moves to Surda after you leave."

Eragon clapped his hands. "I'll swear fealty to _you_ , not the Varden as a whole. I trust you, but not the Council of Elders. And my advice would be to set up Du Vrangr Gata as a source of income and a counterintelligence ring."

Ajihad raised a brow. "I'll agree to that. And how do you mean?"

"Galbatorix has a ring of magicians that have sworn loyalty to him in the Ancient Language, the Black Hand. They have agents in Surda. Have Du Vrangr Gata focus on hunting them out when they're not producing the Varden's major tradable good," Eragon explained.

"Which is?"

"Lace."

"... Lace?" Ajihad had a baffled expression.

"Lace is expensive, but it's simple as breathing to weave it with magic. By selling inexpensive lace in Surda and throughout the Empire, the Varden will amass a fortune all its own rather than borrowing from the dwarves or Surdans," Eragon asserted.

Ajihad rubbed his chin. "I never would have thought of that. I don't think any man would."

"Sometimes it's productive to get in touch with your feminine side," Eragon said lightly. He felt a tad guilty for taking credit for Nasuada's brilliant idea, but with Ajihad the leader of the Varden instead of her, someone needed to alert him to the major money-making idea. Lace had been the backbone of the Varden's finances in the future past.

"Thank you. Now, you should be aware that Hrothgar is sending Orik as a representative of both the Varden and the dwarves to monitor your training."

Eragon nodded, pleased that his friend was coming along. "That is not a problem."

Ajihad turned to Arya. "Arya, I'm aware your relationships with your own kind are… strained to say the least. But on behalf of the Varden, I entreat you to convince Queen Islanzadi to start supplying aid to the Varden again. We're going to need every little bit to win this war, we can't afford to stay divided."

"I will deliver your message," Arya said flatly, her whole expression closing off at the thought of asking her mother for help on any level.

Her mood hadn't improved two days later. There had indeed been an assembly of all the Varden and the three Dragon Riders had sworn fealty to Ajihad. Then they'd had one final night in the safety and comfort of the cave beds. And then they were meeting before the dawn at the gates of Tronjheim. Eragon was just packing Holcomb's saddlebags again when Orik arrived. He clutched a helm in his hands.

"Eragon Shadeslayer, mine uncle has an offer for you," Orik began.

Eragon plucked the helm that bore the crest of Clan Ingeitum and set it proudly on his brow. "I would be honored to be adopted into your clan. What do I have to say?"

Shocked at how casually Eragon had accepted, Orik nonetheless led Eragon through the adoption ceremony. When it was done, Eragon was officially part of a dwarf clan despite only having dwarf bones. Though some would argue their stone bones were their defining trait.

"Why does all the interesting stuff always happen to you?" Murtagh asked half-playfully, though not completely hiding a pang of jealousy.

"You say interesting, I say complicated. I couldn't possibly refuse the offer, so I took it. I already know how to talk like a dwarf, I'll learn how to behave like one later." Eragon laid his hand on his older brother's shoulder. "Let me bear all the responsibility. You just enjoy the freedom of being a Dragon Rider without any politics mucking things up."

"Shadeslayer speaks true, Murtagh. There are a great many 'strings' attached to this adoption. Some might just start a Clan War over this gesture. Leave that headache to Eragon here," Orik said, hiking his full pack.

Having said their goodbyes last night, the party of four humanoids, three dragons, 136 Eldunari, and two horses made for the tunnel that would lead them to the nearest dwarf town to the north. They passed long days in the darkness broken only by the light of red Erisdar. Arya and Eragon saw clear as day and helped guide Orik and Murtagh through the relative gloom. The atmosphere of the tunnel didn't encourage much conversation.

A good week later, they emerged into the outside air. Orik in particular breathed deep of the fresh mountain air. _"My home is under stone, but I don't understand those hermits that abandon the outdoors altogether."_

 _"It's their decision to make,"_ Eragon answered. "Now, remember, we're here in Tarnag as Ûndin's houseguests. He's the one that will give us the resources to ford up the river toward Du Weldenvarden. Murtagh, with all my love, just sit still and look pretty next to Thorn. The dwarves and dragons have the oldest feud in Alagaësia, and the Dragon Riders are a failed concept to most of them after Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Saying or doing the wrong thing, even by accident, could cause an international incident between the Varden and the Dwarf kingdom."

"Mouth shut, got it. Just as well, if everyone's going to be speaking Dwarvish," Murtagh said, scratching Thorn on the top of his scaled head.

"Arya, I trust you to carry yourself with grace, just keep in mind you're no longer the elvish ambassador, you're a Dragon Rider," Eragon told his lady love.

"I'll do my best to remain courteous," Arya said with an ironic grin.

They set off down the path. They hadn't gone far when a dwarf riding a giant billy goat appeared before them. _"What clan? Who passes?"_ The scout called out in a bass rumble.

 _"Orik, Thrivk's son, and Eragon Shadeslayer of Clan Ingeitum. Also the Dragon Riders Murtagh and Arya. We are Ûndin's house guests,"_ Orik stated in his native tongue.

The guard spread his arms. _"Then you may pass."_ With that, the scout jumped away on his unique mount.

"What the blazes was that thing?" Murtagh asked under his breath.

"Feldunost, one of the five species unique to the Beor Mountains," Eragon answered promptly. "The others are a giant wolf, an even bigger bear, an enormous boar, and flying serpents that are pale mockeries of dragons."

They reached the gates of Tarnag, the first outdoor dwarf city Murtagh had seen if you didn't count Farthen Dûr and Tronjheim. They were met by two clan chiefs of the River Guard and clan Quan: Ûndin and Gamnel.

Both seemed taken aback when the party of Riders approached. "So the rumors were true. All three eggs, hatched for the Varden. The gods are smiling on us," Gamnel said reverentially.

Ûndin treated them like they were visiting family. "Please follow through mine city to mine home."

The clan chiefs and their party maintained a stream of pleasant small talk as the party progressed through the tiered structure of the city. At the penultimate highest level, they turned left rather than going up one more tier to Celbediel, the great Dwarvish temple.

They were headed for Ûndin's mansion when a trio of veiled dwarves blocked their path. The leader began to spit filth about the Dragon Riders and the insult of having the beasts in their holy city. When he caught a glimpse of the seal on Eragon's helm, he lost his shit. _"He was made a member of Clan Ingeitum! Curse Hrothgar and all…"_

 _"Either declare a clan war or get out of our way,"_ Eragon spoke flawlessly, to most of the listening dwarves' shock.

The dwarf huffed. Pulling out a silver ring, he plucked three beard hairs and entwined them around the ring. Then he threw the ring away, spitting after it. Ûndin and Gamnel visibly tensed.

 _Translation?_ Murtagh asked his brother.

 _The entire clan of the Tears of Anhuin just dedicated its every resource to my downfall. Up to and including a violent death,_ Eragon answered.

 _Wow. Now I really am glad you're the one who has to handle this shit._

Even when they were safely in the walls of the mansion, the clan chiefs seemed disquieted. _"If hosting me will cause any strain or trouble, I'll happily sleep in the mountainside until it's time to leave,"_ Eragon offered his host.

Ûndin shook his head firmly. _"Nonsense. I will not allow some antiquated fool to ruin your idea of dwarf hospitality. I pledged mine honor on seeing you safely on this leg of your journey. I intend to do just that."_

Later that night, a great meal was hosted in the courtyard so the dragons could participate. Nagra, the giant boar of the Beor Mountains, was served as the main course. Murtagh and Arya were content to eat their portions and let Eragon do all the talking.

Eragon was keeping them interested with a 'hypothetical' discussion of a dwarf Rider. "The real key would be whether brings made from stone can ever be comfortable in the air."

Gamnel nodded, fascinated. "You seem to already know the legends of your new adopted people. All the same, I promised Hrothgar to give you a tour of Celbediel tomorrow."

Eragon nodded and turned to Arya with his mind. _Yes, it's a massive waste of resources dedicated to muttering into the air for help. But even if you find it stupid, you can't disrespect an entire culture out-of-hand._

 _Let us agree to disagree on that front,_ Arya demurred in her head.

The next day passed with Eragon taking his tour of the Dwarves main temple, admiring the enamel mosaic as much as he had in his first life, perhaps more so now that he knew most of the history depicted. The visit was cut short by trouble caused by the Tears of Anhuin. Eragon spent the rest of the day locked safely behind Ûndin's walls.

Before dawn the next morning, they snuck through Tarnag and made it onto a raft, along with seven dwarves assigned to ensure they made it to the elves safely.

Two weeks later, they reached the edge of the woods, and the elf outpost of Cerris. Arya walked boldly into the woods and called out in the Ancient Language _"Come out from hiding, my friends, for I have returned."_

In a blur indistinguishable through the leaves of the trees, four elves dropped to the ground and began to laugh and dance around their princess. The sheer fey beauty of the scene was enough to make Murtagh a little lightheaded. Eragon had the tolerance of more magic in his blood to dilute the effect.

Holcomb and Tornac were sent back with the dwarves, no good for the coming trek through the magical forest. Eragon and Murtagh adjusted their packs and saw Arya break free of her dancing countrymen to cuddle Firnen, who was somewhere between quite a large dog and quite a small horse. The elves all gaped when Arya showed her gedwëy ignasia to confirm.

"Oh, what a joyous occasion! Three Dragon Riders have come to our border! The trees will dance and sing with joy!" The leader, Lifaen, called out in joy. He seemed ready to play music or recite poetry, and the other three didn't seem far behind him.

"This is _nothing_ like how I expected the elves would be," Murtagh whispered to his brother as Arya made arrangements for two to stay at Cerris and two to escort the three Riders through the enchanted forest.

Eragon nodded. "Arya is very… out of touch with typical Elvish culture. She's forced herself to live like a Man for decades. She just needs help rediscovering her roots. Then she'll be… not exactly like that, but much more relaxed," Eragon asserted as the elves indeed pulled out instruments and began to play around the fire.

Orik shook his head. "Mad. Elves are mad."

They got through the evening meal, which being cooked by elves naturally had no animal products. Murtagh grit his teeth at eating like a cow but Eragon stared him down.

The next month passed with them making steady if winding progress to Ellesmera. There was a small incident when they were too near a city when the Elves had their yearly restoration of the forest's magic. Murtagh and Orik had to be restrained lest they run off into the woods and never be seen again. As for Eragon, who could tolerate the magic of the chorus, he still had many… randy thoughts featuring Arya in a variety of positions that he would keep secret to his dying day.

Once they reached the outskirts of Ellesmera, complete with a meeting with the old elf at the border, they stopped hiding. Eragon, Murtagh, and Arya walked confidently through the elvish city, which was formed so harmoniously with the surrounding environment that it was difficult to say where nature left off and magic began.

The elves came out to marvel at their passing, or more accurately the passing of Saphira, Thorn, and Firnen. The benefit of over a month surrounded by elves was Murtagh had made real progress with his fluency. He still had to think through each sentence, but listening was manageable so long as the speaker wasn't too fast.

They made it to Tildari Hall, entering to find Queen Islanzadi on her throne with the elvish nobles seated on their own thrones around the room.

Arya walked stiffly forward when Eragon stopped. " _Queen Islanzadi. I have returned home. I hope you see that my health leaves nothing to be desired, and that you will reinvoke the aide towards the Varden once again."_

The Queen, who really had a strong resemblance to her daughter, grabbed her by her shoulders and embraced her. _"Oh my daughter, I have wronged you!"_

While Murtagh gaped at that little tidbit, Eragon was translating for Orik. Orik hissed. "Barzûln! She was the princess this whole time? No wonder the Queen ceased aide when she was kidnapped."

Arya stood stiffly in her mother's embrace. _"It is pointless for me to forgive you, for you will never acknowledge you ever did any wrong. All the same, I accept your concern for the gesture it is,"_

Islanzadi pulled back. _"My daughter, I have died every day waiting to hear you were safe. Can you not find it in your heart to offer me forgiveness?"_

Arya sighed. _"Let us simply start over from the beginning. Greetings, Queen Islanzadi. I am Arya, Rider of Firnen. Behind me are Eragon Shadeslayer, Rider of Saphira Brightscales. And Murtagh, Rider of Thorn. And Orik, the dwarf ambassador. May we have your blessing to host us while we engage in the training to become fully-fledged Dragon Riders?"_

Islanzadi wasn't giving up that easy. _"If you do not forgive me as a daughter to her mother, I will cast you from the city and never allow you entrance to the halls of Ellesmera!"_

There was muttering from around the room. Arya stood stubborn a minute longer before her shoulders sagged. _"I accept your apology, mother. I am glad the rift between us can be healed at long last."_ Arya all but chewed those words over before spitting them out.

Islanzadi nodded. _"Then may you and your companions always find safe passage and a restful bed in Ellesmera!"_

Murtagh muttered as applause went around the room "That's pretty extreme just to get someone to agree with you."

"Islanzadi doesn't often not get her way," Eragon whispered to his brother. Then he walked forward and pressed his fingers to his lip. _"Greetings, Queen Islanzadi. May good fortune rule over you."_

She mirrored the gesture and replied _"May peace live in your heart."_

 _"And may the stars watch over you. I am Eragon Shadeslayer, Rider of Saphira. I am the leader of us three Riders."_

Islanzadi eyed Arya curiously before returning her piercing gaze to Eragon. _"You bear a hard name, Eragon Shadeslayer. One we only once have bestowed upon our children. I would very much prefer to hear how Arya went from lost near Ceunon to here before me with a dragon beside her."_

Eragon settled in for the long haul and began to tell the whole story. The FULL story, given he was speaking in the Ancient Language. Waking up after being displaced in time. Training, killing the Ra'zac, saving Yazuac, making for Teirm. Opening the Vault of Souls, working the impossible spells with the aid of the Eldunari and the radioactivity in Dorú Araeba. Finding Murtagh, saving Arya, flight across the Empire, arriving at the Varden and the Battle of Farthen Dûr. And then a quick recap of the trip here to Ellesmera from Tronjheim.

Islanzadi kept her mouth closed as he spoke. She sighed and hung her head at the end. _"Truly, it was foolish to cut myself off from the world. I could have seen all this as it happened if I'd scryed as I should have."_

Eragon bowed. _"There's no point in wailing and gnashing our teeth over the past. What matters is what we do going forward from this moment on."_

Islanzadi nodded. Then she addressed Orik in Common. "Master dwarf, you've been awfully quiet. Have you any messages to add to those your charges have relayed?"

Orik set his shoulders. "Only a plea on behalf of Ajihad to rejoin the war effort, and a vow that I may serve the task assigned me by mine king while I'm here."

"My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind. I'll resume the usual aid immediately. And of course, you will be our most honored guest as the Dragon Riders commence with their training here."

Clapping, Islanzadi switched back to her native tongue and decreed _"My daughter is safely returned, and the Riders are resurrect. This calls for celebration! Light the cooking fires and open the casks. May all the city celebrate this joyous occasion!"_

In a blur, they were back outdoors, seated at a massive table made from still-living stumps. Saphira, Thorn, and Firnen had the seats of honor opposite the queen, with Murtagh seated to the right and Eragon and Arya seated to the left. The Riders had the novel experience of people paying more attention to their partners than themselves. The elves all but begged to feel the draconic touch of a mind on theirs.

Eragon gently extended a tendril of thought to Arya. _If I grew up with_ that _, I'd abdicate and run away from home too._

Arya got a bittersweet smile. _I don't doubt she loves me as fiercely as any mother should love her daughter. It's just that it's_ never _her fault. It's always someone or something else._

Eragon took a swig of faelnirv, the elvish spirit and shuddered at the strength of the brew as it burned through his veins. _So you and Murtagh will start training with Oromis and Glaedr tomorrow. And I can begin digging up the brightsteel from the roots of the Menoa Tree. Hopefully since I'm not in a desperate hurry like last time, I can avoid angering her._

 _You really forged all the blades for the New Order yourself?_ Arya asked as she enjoyed a dozen different melodies jumbled together.

 _I was curious after Rheunön possessed me to forge Fire. I started out as a basic student, but I eventually built my way up to swords. Once we found reserves of brightsteel on Nest, I tried my hand at it. The results were not of her quality, but they functioned for their purpose. None of my students ever complained to wield one of my swords._

Arya took the flask from Eragon's grip and took a deep draft. _A thousand years to study… you could master every pursuit. And it sounds like you tried. Why the constant search for a new hobby?_

… _It helped me not to think about you,_ Eragon confessed.

Arya stiffened, but not as much as she would have before the faelnirv. _I owe you my life twice over. First for rescuing me from Durza in Gil'ead. And again for during the Battle of Farthen Dûr. And I am far from seeing you as just a child. In point of fact, I consider you the most pleasant man to talk to I've ever met._

The truth of her thoughts were guaranteed by the Ancient Language. Eragon marveled at the track this conversation was taking. _Okay. So what does that mean? You changed your mind about waiting until after the war?_

 _No. But… the Blood-oath Celebration is coming in a few months. We elves go mad then. Perhaps in the madness… we could meet and… explore possibilities._

Eragon hardly dared to believe his luck. _I would very much enjoy that. I'll count the days. Until then, be a diligent student for your teachers._

Their intimate chat ended with the arrival of the food. They ate and drank to their heart's content. Then Islanzadi led Eragon, Murtagh, and Arya to three different treehouses meant to house Riders back in the golden era of the old order. Eragon climbed the half-remembered staircase and settled in to sleep, Saphira curling in her own little bed on the floor. He dreamt of Arya, and what 'possibilities' they could explore.


End file.
